PALEY’S  THEOLOGY,  WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY: 

OK, 

EVIDENCES 


OF  THE  EXISTENCE  AND  ATTRIBUTES  OF  THE  DEITY. 
COLLECTED  FROM  THE  APPEARANCES 
OF  NATURE, 

BY 

WILLIAM  PALEY,  D.  D. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY 

THE  PLATES,  AND  BY  A SELECTION  FROM  THE  NOTES 

OF 

JAMES  PAXTON. 


WITH 

ADDITIONAL  NOTES,  ORIGINAL  AND  SELECTED,  FOR  THIS  EDITION, 
AND  A VOCABULARY  OF  SCIENTIFIC  TERMS. 

BY  JOHN  WARE,  M.  D. 


BOSTON: 

aOUED  AND  LINCOLN, 

59  'WASHINGTOtT  STREET. 

NEW  YORK:  SHELDON  AND  COMPANY. 
CINCINNATI : GEO.  S.  BLANCHARD, 
1860. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 
GOULD  AND  LINCOLN, 

In  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massaebaaottn 


PUBLISHERS’  NOTICE. 

Several  years  since  the  publishers  of  this  valuable  and  very  popnlaf 
work  engaged  the  services  of  Dr.  John  Ware,  of  this  city,  to  prepare  an 
improved  edition,  by  the  addition  of  forty  elegant  pages  of  the  illustra- 
tions of  Paxton,  “with  references  to  the  same  in  the- text;  extensive 
notes,  original  and  selected  ; a vocabulary  of  scientific  terms,  etc. ; with 
a view  of  adapting  it  more  perfectly  to  the  wants  of  our  colleges  and 
schools,  so  as  thereby  to  increase  its  circulation  and  usefulness. 

The  sale,  with  these  additions  and  improvements,  has  been  gradually 
on  the  increase,  until  it  has  become  very  generally  introduced  into  our 
best  schools  and  colleges  throughout  the  country ; and  having  passed 
through  some  forty  or  more  editions,  the  publishers  found  the  plates,  by 
constant  use,  very  much  worn,  and  in  some  cases  imperfect.  They 
have  consequently  procured  an  entirely  new  and  beautiful  set  of  illus- 
trations, which,  with  other  improvements,  render  the  work  all  that  can 
be  desired,  and  in  view  of  which  they  anticipate  a wider  and  still  more 
extensive  sale  of  the  work. 

Boston,  January,  1854. 


rmiTTED  BT 

GEORGE  C.  RAND  & AVERY. 


PKEFACE 


TO  THE 


REVISED  AMERICAN  EDITION. 


The  present  edition  of  the  Natural  Theology  of  Dr.  Paley  was  under* 
taken  witn  the  view  of  making  this  admhable  work  more  extensively 
useful  than  it  could  ever  be  under  the  form  in  which  it  has  been  usually 
circulated.  A great  proportion  of  those  who  have  read  it  must  have  sensi 
bly  felt  the  disadvantage  under  which  they  labor  in  comprehending  the 
descriptions;  and  of  course  the  arguments  of  the  author,  from  the  want 
of  jL  knowledge  of  the  subjects  to  which  they  relate.  No  man  could  so 
well  supply  the  want  of  this  knowledge,  by  clearness  of  statement  and 
description,  as  Dr.  Paley;  and  it  is  probable  that  fevV  other  writers  would 
have  made  a book  so  intelligible,  which  relates  to  subjects  remote  from 
common  observation,  without  the  aid  of  plates  and  illustrations.  Still  it 
must  be  imperfectly  comprehended  in  many  important  parts,  except  by 
those  acquainted  with  the  sciencqs  from  which  his  illustrations  are  drawn. 
Enough  it  is  true  may  be  understood  by  all,  to  carry  them  along  with  the 
argument,  and  produce  a general  conviction  of  its  truth.  But  the  concep- 
tions even  of  professional  readers  would  be  much  more  clear,  definite,  and 
satisfactory,  were  the  description  aided  by  visible  representations. 

It  was  the  original  design  of  the  publishers  to  have  merely  attached  the 
plates  and  references  of  Paxton,  which  have  been  published  in  England 
and  in  this  country  in  a separate  volume,  to  the  text  of  Dr.  Paley.  It 
was,  however,  suggested  to  them  that  the  value  of  their  edition  might  be 
increased  by  the  addition  of  Notes,  and  they  had  made  arrangements  for 
this  purpose  and  were  going  on  with  the  work,  when  Mr.  Paxton’s  edition 
of  tho  Natural  Theology  fell  into  their  hands,  containing,  beside  the 
plates,  a considerable  number  of  Notes.  From  these  Notes  a selection  has 
made  of  such  as  seemed  most  valuable  and  interesting.  A number 
of  Notes  have  also  been  made  up  of  quotations  from  the  excellent  treatise 
of  Mr.  Charles  Bell  on  Animal  Mechanics,  published  in  the  Library  of 
L^scful  Knowledge  ; a tract  which  cannot  be  too  highly  recommended 
^ fo  the  perusal  of  those  who  take  pleasure  in  studying  the  indications  of  a 
^ wise  and  benevolent  Providence  in  the  works  of  creation. 


A few  additional  Notes  have  also  been  subjoined,  which  have  not  b»®^ 
before  published. 


iv 


PREFACE. 


It  seems  to  be  supposed  by  some,  that  the  progress  made  in  science 
since  the  writing  of  this  work  must  have  furnished  ample  materials  foi 
valuable  additions  to  it.  It  will  readily  appear,  however,  upon  reflection,, 
that  this  is  not  likely  to  be  the  case,  and  that  no  particular  advantage  to 
the  argument  is  to  be  expected  from  bringing  it  down,  as  it  is  often  ex- 
pressed, to  the  present  state  of  science.  The  object  of  the  work  is,  not 
to  teach  science  in  its  connexion  with  Natural  Theology,  a plan  entirely 
different,  and  one  upon  which  distinct  works  may,  and  have  been  written, 
but  to  gather  materials  from  the  knowledge  communicated  by  science, 
wherewith  to  construct  an  argument  for  the  existence  and  attributes  of 
God.  The  excellence  of  such  a work,  then,  will  not  consist  in  the  num- 
ber of  illustrations,  or  in  the  copiousness  and  completeness  of  the  materi- 
als, but  in  the  judgment  with  which  they  are  selected,  and  the  aptness 
with  which  they  are  made  to  bear  upon  the  question  at  issue. 

So  far,  therefore,  as  the  argument  is  concerned,  no  additional  strengtn 
will  be  given  to  it  by  new  discoveries  in  science.  As  Dr.  Paley  has  him- 
self admitted,  a single  case  thoroughly  made  out,  proves  all  that  can  be 
proved,  and,  generally  speaking,  the  most  familiar  instances  which  can 
be  selected  and  made  intelligible  are  the  best  for  this  purpose,  and  will 
have  the  greatest  influence  upon  men’s  minds.  All  the  knowledge,  there- 
fore, which  is  necessary  for  the  completeness  and  strength  of  the  argu- 
ment was  possessed  long  ago. 

Still  there  is  an  advantage  in  selecting  and  arguing  from  a variety  of 
examples,  arising  out  of  the  different  constitutions  of  men’s  minds,  or 
their  different  habits  of  thinking  and  reasoning.  Some  are  more  affected 
by  examples  of  one  kind,  and  some  by  those  of  another.  In  this  way 
much  more  might  be  done  in  the  way  of  illustrating  and  enforcing  the 
argument,  and  holding  it  up  in  every  possible  light,  than  has  been  attempt- 
ed in  the  present  edition.  The  principal  object  here  had  in  view,  has 
been  to  make  such  additions,  as  with  the  help  of  the  engraved  views, 
would  bring  the  argument,  as  stated  by  the  author,  clearly  within  reach 
of  all  readers. 

To  give  a correct  edition,  various  English  and  American  copies  have 
been  consulted,  in  which  variations  have  been  found;  but  those  readings 
have  been  adopted,  which  appeared  best  to  comport  with  that  familiarity, 
and  originality  of  expression,  which  gives  its  principal  charm,  and  its 
great  force  and  clearness  to  Dr  Paley’s  style. 


J W 


TO  THE 


RIGHT  HONORABLE  AND  RIGHT  REVEREND 


S H U T E BARRINGTON,  L L.  IK 


LORD  BISHOP  OF  DURHAM. 


MY  LORD, 

The  following  work  was  undertaken  at  your  Lordship’s  recom- 
mendation; and  amongst  other  motives,  for  the  purpose  of  making  the 
most  acceptable  return  I could  make  for  a great  and  important  benefit 
conferred  upon  me. 

It  may  be  unnecessary,  yet  not  perhaps,  quite  impertinent,  to  state  to 
your  Lordship  and  to  the  reader,  the  several  inducements  that  have  led 
me  once  more  to  the  press.  The  favor  of  my  first  and  ever  honored 
patron  had  put  me  in  possession  of  so  liberal  a provision  in  the  church,  as 
abundantly  to  satisfy  my  wants,  and  much  to  exceed  my  pretensions. 
Your  Lordship’s  munificence,  in  conjunction  with  that  of  some  other  ex- 
cellent Prelates,  who  regarded  my  services  with  the  partiality  with 
which  your  Lordship  was  pleased  to  consider  them,  hath  since  placed  me 
in  ecclesiastical  situations,  more  than  adequate  to  every  object  of  reason- 
able ambition.  In  the  meantime,  a weak,  and,  of  late,  a painful  state 
of  health,  deprived  me  of  the  power  of  discharging  the  duties  of  my  sta- 
vion,  in  a manner  at  all  suitable,  either  to  my  sense  of  those  duties,  or  to 
my  most  anxious  wishes  concerning  them.  My  inability  for  the  public 
functions  of  my  profession,  amongst  other  consequences,  left  me  much  at 
leisure.  That  leisure  was  not  to  be  lost.  It  was  only  in  my  study  that  I 
could  repair  my  deficiencies  in  the  church.  It  was  only  through  the  press 
Inat  I could  speak.  These  circumstances,  in  particular,  entitled  your 
Lordship  to  call  upon  me  for  the  only  species  of  exertion  of  which  I was 
capable,  and  disposed  me,  without  hesitation,  to  obey  the  call  in  the  best 
manner  that  I could.  In  the  choice  of  a subject  I had  no  place  left  for 
doubt  : in  saying  which,  I do  not  so  much  refer,  either  to  the  supreme 
importance  of  the  subject,  or  to  any  skepticism  concerning  it  with  which 
the  present  times  are  charged,  as  I do,  to  its  connexion  with  the  subjects 
treated  of  in  my  former  publications.  The  following  discussion  alone  was 
wanted  to  make  up  my  works  into  a system  : in  which  works,  such  as 
they  are,  the  public  have  now  before  them,  the  3vidence3  of  natural  reli- 

A 


2 


DEDICATION. 


gion,  the  evidences  of  revealed  religion,  and  an  account  of  the  duties  that 
result  from  both.  It  is  of  small  importance,  that  they  have  been  written 
in  an  order,  the  very  reverse  of  that  in  which  they  ought  to  be  read.  I 
commend  therefore  the  present  volume  to  your  Lordship’s  protection,  not 
only  as,  in  all  probability,  my  last  labor,  but  as  the  completion  of  a con 
sistent  and  comprehensive  design. 

Hitherto,  my  Lord,  I have  been  speaking  of  myself  and  not  of  my  Pa- 
tron. Your  Lordship  wants  not  the  testimony  of  a dedication,  nor  any 
testimony  from  me  : I consult  therefore  the  impulse  of  my  own  mind 
alone  when  I declare,  that  in  no  respect  has  my  intercourse  with  your 
Lordship  been  more  gratifying  to  me,  than  in  the  opportunities,  which 
it  has  afforded  me,  of  observing  your  earnest,  active,  and  unwearied 
solicitude,  for  the  advancement  of  substantial  Christianity:  a solicitude, 
nevertheless,  accompanied  with  that  candor  of  mind,  which  suffers  no 
subordinate  differences  of  opinion,  when  there  is  a coincidence  in  the  main 
intention  and  object,  to  produce  an  alienation  of  esteem,  or  diminution  of 
favor.  It  is  fortunate  for  a country,  and  honorable  to  its  government, 
when  qualities  and  dispositions  like  these  are  placed  in  high  and  influential 
stations.  Such  is  the  sincere  judgment  which  I have  formed  of  your 
Lordship’s  character,  and  of  its  public  value:  my  personal  obligations  I 
can  never  forget.  Under  a due  sense  of  both  these  considerations,  1 beg 
leave  to  subscribe  myself,  with  great  respect  and  gratitude, 

My  Lord, 

Your  Lordship’s  faithful 

And  most  devoted  servant, 

WILLIAM  PALEY 


TO  THE 


HONORABLE  AND  RIGHT  REVEREND 

SHUTE  BARRINGTON,  LL.  D 

LORD  BISHOP  OF  DURHAM. 


MY  LORD, 

To  your  suggestion  the  world  is  indebted  for  the  existence  of  Dr. 
Paley’s  valuable  work  on  Natural  Theology.  The  universal  and  perma- 
nent esteem  in  which  it  has  been  held  in  this  country,  and  its  favorable 
reception  in  France,  even  after  the  desolating  influence  of  the  Revolution, 
have  abundantly  approved  your  Lordship’s  selection  both  of  the  subject 
and  of  the  person  to  whom  you  intrusted  it. 

In  looking  round,  then,  for  a patron  for  these  Illustrations,  it  was 
natural  to  have  recourse  to  him  who  was  the  original  suggcstor  of  the 
work  which  it  is  their  object  to  explain.  Nor  was  I disappointed  in  my 
wish;  your  Lordship  not  only  condescending  to  approve  of  the  design, 
but  to  encourage  me  in  its  prosecution,  by  your  very  liberal  support. 
For  this  distinguished  honor  you  will  believe  me  deeply  sensible  ; and 
if  I may  indulge  the  hope  that  my  humble  efforts  will  increase  the  utility 
of  so  eminent  a v,  liter,  I shall  consider  it  the  highest  gratification. 

I am,  my  Lord, 

With  great  veneration. 

Your  Lordship’s  most  obliged. 

And  obedient  servant. 


JAMES  PAXTON. 


Chapter 

1.  State  of  the  Argument,  . • • • • 

2.  Stale  of  the  Argument,  continued,  • • • 

3.  Application  of  the  Argument,  • • • • 

4.  Of  the  succession  of  Plants  and  Animals,  • • • 

5.  AppJ'cation  of  the  Argument,  continued,  • • • • 

6.  The  Argument  cumulative,  . . • • • 

7.  Of  the  mechanical  and  immechanical  parts  and  functions  of 

Animals  and  Vegetables, 

8.  Of  mechanical  Arrangement  in  the  human  Frame—  Of  the 

Bones, 

9.  Of  the  Muscles, 

10.  Of  the  Vessels  of  animal  Bodies,  .... 

11.  Of  the  animal  Structure,  regarded  as  a Mass,  . • 

12.  Comparative  Anatomy, 

13.  Peculiar  Organizations, 

14.  Prospective  Contrivances,  . . • • • • 

15.  Relations,  . . ..••••• 

16.  Compensation,  . 

17.  The  Relation  of  animated  Bodies  to  inanimate  Nature, 

IS.  Instincts,  ....... 

19  Of  Insects,  • 

20  Of  Plants, • 

21  Of  the  Elements,  ....  • . . 

22  Astronomy,  ....•••• 

23.  Personality  of  the  Deity,  . . ... 

24.  Of  the  Natural  Attributes  of  the  Deity,  • • . 

25.  The  Unity  of  the  Deity,  • . • 

26.  The  Goov^ness  of  the  Deity,  ..... 

27.  Conclusim,  . . * • • ; • 

Vocabulary,  


Pag* 

5 

8 

IS 

31 

35 

44 

45 

52 

74 

90 

109 

122 

137 

145 

149 

157 

166 

170 

180 

193 

207 

212 

229 

246 

249 

252 

292 

299 


NATURAL  THEOLOGY 

t 


CHAPTER  1. 

STATE  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 

In  crossing  a heath,  suppose  I pitched  my  foot  against 
a stonsy  and  were  asked  how  the  stone  came  to  be  tliere; 
I might  possibly  answer,  that,  for  anything  I knew  to  the 
contrary,  it  had  lain  there  forever:  nor  would  it  perhaps 
oe  very  easy  to  show  the  absurdity  of  this  answer.  But 
suppose  I had  found  a walcli  upon  the  ground,  and  it 
should  be  inquired  how  the  watch  happened  to  be  in  that 
place;  I should  hardly  think  of  the  answer  which  I had  be- 
fore given,  that,  for  anything  I knew,  the  watch  might 
have  always  been  there.  Yet  why  should  not  this  answer 
serve  for  the  watch  as  well  as  for  the  stone?  Why  is  it 
not  as  admissible  in  the  second  case,  as  in  the  first?  For 
this  reason,  and  for  no  other,  viz.  that,  when  we  come  to 
inspect  the  watch,  we  perceive  (what  we  could  not  dis- 
cover in  the  stone)  that  its  several  parts  are  framed  and  put 
together  for  a purpose,  e.  g.  that  they  are  so  formed  and  ad- 
justed as  to  produce  motion,  and  that  motion  so  regulated 
as  to  point  out  the  hour  of  the  day;  that  if  the  different 
parts  had  been  differently  shaped  from  what  they  are,  of  a 
dilTerent  size  from  what  they  are,  or  placed  after  any  otlier 
manner,  or  in  any  other  order,  than  that  in  which  they 
are  placed,  either  no  motion  at  all  would  have  been  carried 
on  in  the  machine,  or  none  which  would  have  answered  the 
use  that  is  now  served  by  it.  To  reckon  up  a few  of  the 
plainest  of  these  parts,  and  of  their  offices,  all  tending  to  ono 
result:  [See  Plate  L] — We  see  a cylindrical  box  containing 
a coiled  elastic  spring,  which,  by  its  endeavor  to  relax  itself, 
turns  round  the  box.  We  next  observe  a flexible  chain  (ar- 
tificially wrought  for  the  sake  of  flexure)  communicating  the 
action  of  4 he  sj  ring  from  the  box  to  the  fusee.  We  then 


6 


STATE  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


find  a series  of  wheels,  the  teeth  of  which  catch  in,  and 
apply  to  each  other,  conducting  the  motion  from  the  fusee 
to  the  balance,  and  from  the  balance  to  the  pointer;  and  at 
the  same  time,  by  the  size  and  shape  -of  those  wheels,  so 
regulating  that  motion,  as  to  terminate  in  causing  an  index, 
by  an  equable  and  measured  progression,  to  pass  over  a 
given  space  in  a given  time.  We  take  notice  that  the 
wheels  are  made  of  brass  in  order  to  keep  them  from  rust ; 
the  springs  of  steel,  no  other  metal  being  so  elastic;  that 
over  the  face  of  the  watch  there  is  placed  a glass,  a material 
employed  in  no  other  part  of  the  work ; but  in  the  room  of 
which,  if  there  had  been  any  other  than  a transparent  sub- 
stance, the  hour  could  not  be  seen  without  opening  the 
case.  This  mechanism  being  observed  (it  requires  indeed 
an  examination  of  the  instrument,  and  perhaps  some  pre- 
vious knowledge  of  the  subject,  to  perceive  and  understand 
it;  but  being  once,  as  we  have  said,  observed  and  under- 
stood,) the  inference,  we  think,  is  inevitable  ; that  the 
watch  must  have  had  a maker ; that  there  must  have  exist- 
ed, at  sometime,  and  at  some  place  or  other,  an  artificer  or 
artificers,  who  formed  it  for  the  purpose  which  we  find  it 
actually  to  answer  ; who  comprehended  its  construction, 
and  designed  its  use. 

I.  Nor  would  it,  I apprehend,  weaken  the  conclusion, 
that  we  had  never  seen  a watch  made:  that  we  had  never 
known  an  artist  capable  of  making  one ; that  we  were  alto- 
gether incapable  of  executing  such  a piece  of  workman- 
ship ourselves,  or  of  understanding  in  what  manner  it  was 
performed  ; all  this  being  no  more  than  what  is  true  of  some 
exquisite  remains  of  ancient  art,  of  some  lost  arts,  and,  to 
the  generality  of  mankind,  of  the  more  curious  produc- 
tions of  modern  manufacture.  Does  one  man  in  a million 
know  how  oval  frames  are  turned.^  Ignorance  of  this  kind 
exalts  oi.ir  opinion  of  the  unseen  and  unknown  artist’s  sldll, 
if  he  be  unseen  and  unknown,  but  raises  no  doubt  in  our 
minds  of  the  existence  and  agency  of  such  an  artist,  at 
some  former  time,  and  in  some  place  or  other.  Nor  can 
I perceive  that  it  varies  at  all  the  inference,  whether  the 
question  arise  concerning  a human  agent,  or  concerning  an 
agent  of  a diflerent  species,  or  an  agent  possessing,  in 
some  respects,  a different  nature. 

II.  Neither,  secondly,  would  it  invalidate  our  conclu- 
sion, that  the  watch  sometimes  went  wrong,  or  that  it  sel- 
dom went  exactly  right.  The  purpose  of  the  machinery, 
the  design  and  the  designer,  might  be  evident,  and  in  the 
case  supposed  would  be  evident,  in  whatever  we  ac- 


STATE  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


7 


counted  for  the  irregularity  of  the  movement,  or  whether 
we  could  account  for  it  or  not.  Jt  is  not  necessary  that  a 
machine  be  perfect,  in  order  to  show  with  what  design  it 
was  made:  still  less  necessary,  where  the  only  question  is, 
whether  it  were  made  with  any  design  at  all. 

III.  Nor,  thirdly,  would  it  bring  any  uncertainty  into  the 
argument,  if  there  were  a few  parts  of  the  watch,  concern- 
ing which  we  could  not  discover,  or  had  not  yet  discovered, 
in  what  manner  they  conduced  to  the  general  effect;  or 
even  some  parts,  concerning  which  we  could  not  ascci- 
tain  whether  they  conduced  to  that  effect  in  any  manner 
whatever.  For,  as  to  the  first  branch  of  the  case;  if  by 
the  loss,  or  disorder,  or  decay  of  the  parts  in  question,  the 
movement  of  the  watch  were  found  in  fact  to  be  stopped, 
or  disturbed,  or  retarded,  no  doubt  would  remain  in  our 
minds  as  to  the  utility  or  intention  of  these  parts,  although 
we  should  be  unable  to  investigate  the  manner  according 
to  which,  or  the  connexion  by  which,  the  ultimate  effect 
depended  upon  their  action  or  assistance ; and  the  more 
complex  is  the  machine,  the  more  likely  is  this  obscurity  to 
arise.  Then,  as  to  the  second  thing  supposed,  namely, 
that  there  were  parts  which  might  be  spared,  without  pre- 
judice to  the  movement  of  the  watch,  and  that  we  had  prov- 
ed this  by  experiment — these  superfluous  parts,  even  if  we 
were  completely  assured  that  they  were  such,  would  not 
vacate  the  reasoning  which  we  had  instituted  concerning 
other  parts.  The  indication  of  contrivance  remained,  with 
respect  to  them,  nearly  as  it  was  before. 

IV.  Nor,  fourthly,  would  any  man  in  his  senses  think 
the  existence  of  the  watch,  with  its  various  machinery,  ac- 
counted for,  by  being  told  that  it  was  one  out  of  possible 
combinations  of  material  forms;  that  whatever  he  had 
found  in  the  place  where  he  found  the  watch,  nust  have 
contained  some  internal  configuration  or  other;  and  that 
this  configuration  might  be  the  structure  now  exhibited, 
viz.  of  the  works  of  a watch,  as  well  as  a different  structure. 

V.  Nor,  fifthly,  would  it  yield  his  inquiry  more  satisfac- 
tion to  be  answered,  that  there  existed  in  things  a principle 
of  order,  which  had  disposed  the  parts  of  the  watch  into 
their  present  form  and  situation.  He  never  knew  a watch 
made  by  the  principle  of  order;  nor  can  he  even  foim  to 
himself  an  idea  of  what  is  meant  by  a principle  of  order 
distinct  from  the  intelligence  of  the  watchmaker. 

VI.  Sixthly,  he  would  be  surprised  to  hear  that  the 
mechanism  of  the  watch  was  no  proof  of  contrivance,  only 
a motive  t'^  induce  the  mind  to  think  so. 


8 


STATE  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


VII.  And  not  less  surprised  to  be  informed,  that  the 
watch  in  his  hand  was  nothing  more  than  the  result  of  the 
laws  of  metallic  nature.  It  is  a perversion  of  language  to 
assign  any  law  as  the  efficient,  operative  cause  of  anything. 
A law  presupposes  an  agent ; for  it  is  only  the  mode  ac- 
cording to  which  an  agent  proceeds:  it  implies  a power; 
for  it  is  the  order,  according  to  which  that  power  acts 
Without  this  agent,  without  this  power,  which  areffiolh  dis- 
tinct from  itself,  the  laiu  does  nothing;  is  nothing.  The 
expression,  ‘The  law  of  metallic  nature,’’  may  sound  strange 
and  harsh  to  a philosophic  ear;  but  it  seems  quite  as  justi- 
hahle  as  some  others  which  are  more  familiar  to  him,  such 
as  “the  law  of  vegetable  nature,”  “ the  law  of  animal  na- 
ture,” or  indeed  as  “the  law  of  nature”  in  general,  when 
assigned  as  the  cause  of  phenomena,  in  exclusion  of  agen- 
cy and  power;  Dr  when  it  is  substituted  into  the  place  of 
these. 

VIII.  Neither,  lastly,  would  our  observer  be  driven  out 
of  his  conclusion,  or  from  his  confidence  in  its  truth,  by 
being  told  that  he  knew  nothing  at  all  about  the  matter. 
He  knows  enough  for  his  argument.  He  knows  the  utility 
of  the  end:  he  knows  the  subserviency  and  adaptation  of  the 
means  to  the  end.  These  points  being  known,  his  igno- 
rance of  other  points,  his  doubts  concerning  other  points, 
affect  not  the  certainty  of  his  reasoning.  The  conscious- 
ness of  knowing  little  need  not  beget  a distrust  of  that 
which  he  does  know. 


CHAPTER  II. 

STATE  OF  THE  ARGUMENT  CONTINUED. 

Suppose,  in  the  next  place,  that  the  person  wffio  found 
the  watch,  should,  after  sometime,  discover,  that,  in  ad- 
dition to  all  the  properties  which  he  had  hitherto  observed 
in  it,  it  possessed  the  unexpected  property  of  producing, 
in  the  course  of  its  movement,  another  watch  like  itself, 
(the  thing  is  conceivable;)  that  it  contained  within  it  a 
mechanism,  a system  of  parts,  a mould  for  instance,  or  a 
complex  adjustment  of  lathes,  files,  and  other  tools,  evident- 
ly and  separately  calculated  for  this  purpose;  let  us  in- 
quire, what  effect  ought  such  adiscoi  ery  to  have  uoon  his 
forme  conclus  DU. 


STATE  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


9 


I.  The  first  cfiect  would  be  to  increase  his  admiration 
of  the  contrivance,  and  his  conviction  of  the  consummate 
skill  of  ’'he  contriver.  Whether  he  regarded  the  ob- 
ject of  f.ie  contrivance,  the  distinct  apparatus,  the  intri- 
cate, yet  in  many  parts  intelligible  mechanism,  by  which 
it  was  carried  on,  he  would  perceive,  in  this  new  observa- 
tion, nothing  but  an  additional  reason  for  doing  what  he 
had  already  done, — for  referring  the  construction  of  the 
watch  to  design,  and  to  supreme  art.  If  that  construction 
luiZ/iownhis  property,  or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  before 
this  property  had  been  noticed,  proved  intention  and  art 
to  have  been  employed  about  it,  still  more  strong  would 
the  proof  appear,  when  he  came  to  the  knowledge  of  this 
farther  property,  the  crown  and  perfection  of  all  the  rest. 

II.  He  would  reflect,  that  though  the  watch  before  him 
were,  in  some  sense^  the  maker  of  the  watch  which  was 
fabricated  in  the  course  of  its  movements,  yet  it  was  in  a 
very  difterent  sense  from  that  in  which  a carpenter,  for 
instance,  is  the  maker  of  a chair ; the  author  of  its  con- 
trivance, the  cause  of  the  relation  of  its  parts  to  their  use. 
With  respect  to  these,  the  first  watch  was  no  cause  at  all 
to  the  second:  in  no  such  sense  as  this  was  it  the  author 
of  the  constitution  and  order,  either  of  the  parts  which 
the  new  watch  contained,  or  of  the  parts  by  the  aid  and 
instrumentality  of  which  it  was  produced.  We  might  ’pos- 
sibly say,  but  with  great  latitude  of  expression,  that  a 
stream  of  water  ground  corn ; but  no  latitude  of  expres- 
sion would  allow  us  to  say,  no  stretch  of  conjecture  could 
lead  us  to  think,  that  the  stream  of  water  built  the  mill, 
though  it  were  too  ancient  for  us  to  know  who  the  builder 
was.  What  the  stream  of  water  does  in  the  affair,  is 
neither  more  nor  less  than  this ; by  the  application  of  an 
unintelligent  impulse  to  a mechanism  previously  arranged, 
arranged  independently  of  it,  and  arranged  by  intelligence, 
an  effect  is  produced,  viz.  the  corn  is  ground.  But  the 
effect  results  from  the  arrangement.  The  force  of  tlie 
st'*eam  cannot  be  said  to  be  the  cause  or  author  of  txie 
eflect,  still  less  of  the  arrangement.  Understanding  and 
plan  in  the  formation  of  the  mill  were  not  the  less  neces* 
sary,  for  any  share  which  the  water  has  in  grinding  the 
corn;  yet  is  this  share  the  same  as  that  which  the  watch 
would  have  contributed  to  the  production  of  the  new  watch, 
upon  the  supposition  assumed  in  the  last  section.  There- 
fore, 

III.  Though  it  be  now  no  longer  probable,  that  the 
individual  watch  which  our  < bserve:;  had  found  was  made 


10 


STATE  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


immediately  by  the  hand  of  an  artificer,  yet  doth  not  this 
alteration  in  any-wise  affect  the  inference,  that  an  artificer 
had  been  originally  employed  and  concerned  in  the  pro- 
duction. The  argument  from  design  remains  as  it  was. 
Marks  of  design  and  contrivance  are  no  more  accounted 
for  n:)w  than  they  were  before.  In  the  same  thing,  we 
may  ask  for  the  cause  of  different  properties.  We  may 
ask  for  the  cause  of  the  color  of  a body,  of  its  hardness,  of 
its  heat;  and  these  causes  may  be  all  different.  We  are 
now  asking  for  the  cause  of  that  subserviency  to  a ase, 
that  relation  to  an  end,  which  we  have  remarked  in  the 
watch  before  us.  No  answer  is  given  to  this  question  by 
telling  us  that  a preceding  watch  produced  it.  There  can- 
not be  design  without  a designer;  contrivance,  without  a 
contriver;  order,  without  choice;  arrangement,  without 
anything  capable  of  arranging;  subserviency  and  relation 
to  a purpose,  without  that  which  could  intend  a purpose; 
means  suitable  to  an  end,  and  executing  their  office  in 
accomplishing  that  end,  without  the  end  ever  having  been 
contemplated,  or  the  means  accommodated  to  it.  Arrange- 
ment, disposition  of  parts,  subserviency  of  means  to  an  end, 
relation  of  instruments  to  a use,  imply  the  presence  of  in- 
telligence and  mind.  No  one,  therefore,  can  rationally  be- 
lieve, that  the  insensible,  inanimate  watch,  from  which  the 
watch  before  us  issued,  was  the  proper  cause  of  the  me- 
chanism we  so  much  admire  in  it; — could  be  truly  said  to 
have  constructed  the  instrument,  disposed  its  parts,  assign 
ed  their  office,  determined  their  order,  action,  and  mutual 
dependency,  combined  their  several  motions  into  one  re- 
sult, and  that  also  a result  connected  with  the  utilities  of 
other  beings.  All  these  properties,  therefore,  are  as  much 
unaccounted  for  as  they  were  before. 

IV.  Nor  is  anything  gained  by  running  the  difficulty 
farther  back,  i.  e.  by  supposing  the  watch  before  us  to  have 
been  produced  from  another  watch,  that  from  a former, 
and  so  on  indefinitely.  Our  going  back  ever  so  far  brings 
us  no  nearer  to  the  least  degree  of  satisfaction  upon  the 
subject.  Contrivance  is  still  unaccounted  for.  We  still 
want  a contriver.  A designing  mind  is  neither  supplied 
by  this  supposition,  nor  dispensed  with.  If  the  difficulty 
were  diminished  the  farther  we  went  back,  by  going  back 
indefinitely  we  might  exhaust  it.  And  this  is  the  only 
case  to  which  this  sort  of  reasoning  applies.  Where  there 
is  a tendency,  or,  as  we  increase  the  number  of  terms,  a 
continual  approach  towards  a limit,  ihere,  by  supposing  the 
number  of  terms  to  be  what  is  ^ ailed  infinite,  we  may  con- 


STATE  OF  THE  ARGUMENT 


11 


ceive  the  limit  to  be  attained:  but  where  there  is  n j such 
tendency,  or  approach,  nothing  is  effected  by  lengthening 
the  series.  There  is  no  difference,  as  to  the  point  in  ques- 
tion, (whatever  there  may  be  as  to  many  points,)  between 
one  series  and  another;  between  a series  which  is  finite, 
and  a series  which  is  infinite.  A chain,  composed  of  an 
infinite  number  of  links,  can  no  more  support  itself,  than 
a chain  composed  of  a finite  number  of  links.  And  of  this 
wc  are  assured,  (though  we  never  can  have  tried  the  ex- 
periment,) because,  by  inci easing  the  number  of  links, 
from  ten,  for  instance,  to  a hundred,  from  a hundred  to  a 
thousand,  Slc.  we  make  not  the  smallest  approach,  we  ob- 
serve not  the  smallest  tendency,  towards  self-support. 
There  is  no  difference  in  this  respect  (yet  there  may  be 
a great  difference  in  several  respects)  between  a chain  of 
a greater  or  less  length,  between  one  chain  and  another, 
between  one  that  is  finite  and  one  that  is  infinite. 
This  very  much  resembles  the  case  before  us.  The 
machine  which  we  are  inspecting  demonstrates,  by  its 
construction,  contrivance  and  design.  Contrivance  must 
have  had  a, contriver;  design,  a designer;  whether  the 
machine  immediately  proceeded  from  another  machine  or 
not.  That  circumstance  alters  not  the  case.  That  other 
machine  may,  in  like  manner,  have  proceeded  from  a for- 
mer machine:  nor  does  that  alter  the  case;  contrivance 
must  have  had  a contriver.  That  former  one  from  one 
preceding  it:  no  alteration  still;  a contriver  is  still  neces- 
sary. No  tendency  is  perceived,  no  approach  towards  a 
diminution  of  thi^  necessity.  It  is  the  same  with  any  and 
every  succession  of  these  machines;  a succession  of  ten, 
of  a hundred,  of  a thousand;  with  one  series  as  with  an- 
other; a series  which  is  finite,  as  with  a series  which  is 
infinite.  In  whatever  other  respects  they  may  differ,  in 
this  they  do  not.  In  all,  equally,  ccntrivaiice  and  design 
are  unaccounted  for. 

The  question  is  not  simply.  How  came  the  first  watch 
into  existence?  which  question,  it  may  be  pretended,  is 
done  away  by  supposing  the  series  of  watches  thus  pro- 
duced from  one  another  to  have  been  infinite,  and  conse- 
quently to  have  had  no  such  first,  for  which  it  was  neces- 
sary to  provide  a cause.  This,  perhaps,  would  have  been 
nearly  the  state  of  the  question,  if  nothing  had  been  before 
us  but  an  unorganized,  unmechanized  substance,  without 
mark  or  indication  of  contrivance.  It  might  be  difficult  tG 
show  that  such  substance  could  not  have  existed  from  eter- 
nity, either  in  succession  (if  it  were  possible,  which  I think 


12 


STATE  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


it  is  not,  for  unorganized  bodies  to  spring  from  one  another) 
or  by  individual  perpetuity.  But  that  is  not  the  question 
now.  To  suppose  it  to  be  so,  is  to  suppose  that  it  made 
no  difference  whether  we  had  found  a watch  or  a stone. 
As  it  is,  the  metaphysics  of  that  question  have  no  place; 
for,  in  the  watch  which  we  are  examining,  are  seen  con- 
trivance, design ; an  end,  a purpose ; means  for  the  end, 
adaptation  to  the  purpose.  And  the  question  which  ir- 
resistibly presses  upon  our  thoughts,  is,  whence  this  con- 
trivance and  design.^  The  thing  required  is  the  intending 
mind,  the  adapting  hand,  the  intelligence  by  which  that 
hand  was  directed.  This  question,  this  demand,  is  not 
shaken  off,  by  increasing  a number  or  succession  of  sub- 
stances, destitute  of  these  properties;  nor  the  more,  by  in- 
creasing that  number  to  infinity.  If  it  be  said,  that,  upon 
the  supposition  of  one  watch  being  produced  from  another 
in  the  course  of  that  other's  movements,  and  by  means  of 
the  mechanism  within  it,  we  have  a cause  for  the  watch  in 
my  hand,  viz.  the  watch  from  which  it  proceeded:  I deny, 
that  for  the  design,  the  contrivance,  the  suitableness  of 
means  to  an  end,  the  adaptation  of  instruments  to  a use,  (all 
which  we  discover  in  a watch,)  we  have  any  cause  what- 
ever. It  is  in  vain,  therefore,  to  assign  a series  of  such 
causes,  or  to  allege  that  a series  may  be  carried  back  to 
infinity;  for  I do  not  admit  that  we  have  yet  any  cause  at 
all  of  the  phenomena,  still  less  any  series  of  causes  eithei 
finite  or  infinite.  Here  is  contrivance,  but  no  contriver; 
proofs  of  design,  but  no  designer. 

V.  Our  observer  would  farther  also  reflect,  that  the 
maker  of  the  watch  before  him,  was,  in  truth  and  reality, 
the  maker  of  every  watch  produced  from  it;  there  being 
no  difference  (except  that  the  latter  manifests  a more  ex- 
quisite skill)  between  the  making  of  another  watch  with 
his  own  hands,  by  the  mediation  of  files,  lathes,  chisels,  &c. 
and  the  disposing,  fixing,  and  inserting  of  these  instru- 
ments, or  of  others  equivalent  to  them,  in  the  body  of  the 
watch  already  made,  in  such  a manner  as  to  form  a new 
watch  in  the  course  of  the  movements  which  he  had  given 
to  the  old  one.  It  is  only  working  by  one  set  of  tools  in- 
stead of  another. 

The  conclusion  which  the  first  examination  of  the  watch, 
of  its  works,  construction,  and  movement,  suggested,  was, 
that  it  must  have  had,  for  the  cause  and  author  of  that  con- 
struction, an  artificer,  who  understood  its  mechanism,  and 
designed  its  use.  This  conclusion  is  invincible.  A second 
examination  presents  us  with  a new  discovery.  The  watch 


. “ APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


13 


is  found,  in  the  course  of  its  movement,  to  produce  anoth- 
er watch,  similar  to  itself:  and  not  only  so,  but  we  perceive 
in  it  a system  or  organization,  separately  calculated  for  that 
purpose.  What  effect  would  this  discovery  have  or  ought 
it  to  hive,  upon  our  former  inference?  What,  as  hath  al- 
ready been  said,  but  to  increase,  beyond  measure,  our  ad- 
miration of  the  skill  which  had  been  employed  in  the  for- 
mation of  such  a machine!  Or  shall  it,  instead  of  Inis, 
all  at  once  turn  us  round  to  an  opposite  conclusion,  viz 
that  no  art  or  skill  whatever  has  been  concerned  in  the 
business,  although  all  other  evidences  of  art  and  skill  re- 
main as  they  were,  and  this  last  and  supreme  piece  of  art 
be  now  added  to  the  rest?  Can  this  be  maintained  with- 
out absurdity?  Yet  this  is  atheism. 


CHAPTER  III. 

APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 

This  is  atheism:  for  every  indication  of  contrivance,  ev- 
ery manifestation  of  design,  which  existed  in  the  watch,  ex- 
ists in  the  works  of  nature;  with  the  difference,  on  the  side 
of  nature,  of  being  greater  and  more,  and  that  in  a degree 
which  exceeds  all  computation.  I mean,  that  the  contriv- 
ances of  nature  surpass  the  contrivances  of  art,  in  the  com- 
plexity, subtilty,  and  curiosity  of  the  mechanism;  and  still 
more,  if  possible,  do  they  go  beyond  them  in  number  an^^ 
variety:  yet,  in  a multitude  of  cases,  are  not  less  evidently 
mechanical,  not  less  evidently  contrivances,  not  less  evi- 
dently accommodated  to  their  end,  or  suited  to  their  office, 
than  are  the  most  perfect  productions  of  human  ingenuity. 

I know  no  better  method  of  introducing  so  large  a sub- 
ject, than  that  of  comparing  a single  thing  with  a single  thing ; 
an  eye,  for  example,  with  a telescope.  As  far  as  the  ex- 
amination of  the  instrument  goes,  there  is  precisely  the 
same  proof  that  the  eye  was  made  for  vision,  as  there  is 
that  the  telescope  was  made  for  assisting  it.  They  arc 
made  upon  the  same  principles;  both  being  adjusted  to  the 
laws  by  which  the  transmission  and  refraction  of  rays  of 
light  are  regulated.  I speak  not  of  the  origin  of  the  laws 
themselves;  but  such  laws  being  fixed,  the  construction, 
in  both  cases,  is  adapted  to  them.  For  instance;  these 
laws  require,  in  order  to  produce  the  same  effect,  that  the 
'cays  of  light,  in  passing  from  water  into  the  eye,  should  be 

B 


14 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


refracted  by  a more  convex  surface  than  when  it  passes 
out  of  air  into  the  eye.  Accordingly  we  find,  that  the  eye 
of  a fish,  in  that  part  of  it  called  the  crystalline  lens,  is  much 
rounder  than  the  eye  of  terrestrial  animals.  [Plate  II.  fig.  1.] 
What  plainer  manifestation  of  design  can  there  be  than  this 
difference  ? What  could  a mathematical  instrument-maker 
have  done  more,  to  snow  his  knowledge  of  his  principle, 
his  application  of  that  knowledge,  his  suiting  of  his  means 
to  his  end;  I will  not  say  to  display  the  compass  or  excel* 
lejice  of  his  skill  and  art,  for  in  these  all  comparison  is 
indecorous,  but  to  testify  counsel,  choice,  consideration, 
purpose  ? 

To  some  it  may  appear  a difference  sufficient  to  destroy 
all  similitude  between  the  eye  and  the  telescope,  that  the 
one  is  a perceiving  organ,  the  other  an  unperceiving  instru- 
ment. The  fact  is,  that  they  are  both  instruments.  And, 
as  to  the  mechanism,  at  least  as  to  mechanism  being  em- 
ployed, and  even  as  to  the  kind  of  it,  this  circumstance  va- 
ries not  the  analogy  at  all.  For,  observe  what  the  consti- 
tution of  the  eye  is.  [Plate  II.  fig.  2.]  It  is  necessary,  in 
order  to  produce  distinct  vision,  that  an  image  or  picture  of 
the  object  be  formed  at  the  bottom  of  the  eye.  Whence  this 
necessity  arises,  or  how  the  picture  is  connected  with  the 
sensation,  or  contributes  to  it,  it  may  be  difficult,  nay  we 
will  confess,  if  you  please,  impossible  for  us  to  search  out. 
But  the  present  question  is  not  concerned  in  the  inquiry.  It 
may  be  true,  that,  in  this,  and  in  other  instances,  we  trace 
mechanical  contrivance  a certain  way;  and.  that  then  we 
come  to  something  which  is  not  mechanical,  or  which  is  in- 
scrutable. But  this  affects  not  the  certainty  of  our  inves- 
tigation, as  far  as  we  have  gone.  The  difference  between 
an  animal  and  an  automatic  statue,  consists  in  this, — that, 
in  the  animal,  we  trace  the  mxechanism  to  a certain  point, 
and  then  we  are  stopped;  either  the  mechanism  becoming 
loo  subtile  for  our  discernment,  or  something  else  beside 
Ihe  known  laws  of  mechanism  taking  place:  whereas,  in 
.he  automaton,  for  the  comparatively  few  motions  of  which 
it  is  capable,  we  trace  the  mechanism  throughout.  But, 
up  to  the  limit,  the  reasoning  is  as  clear  and  certain  in  the 
one  case  as  in  the  other.  In  the  example  before  us,  it  is  a 
matter  of  certainty,  because  it  is  a matter  which  experience 
and  observation  demonstrate,  that  the  formation  of  an  im- 
age at  the  bottom  of  the  eye  is  necessary  to  perfect  vision 
The  image  itself  can  be  shown.  Whatever  alficts  the  dis- 
tinctness of  the  image,  affects  the  distinctness  of  the  vision. 
The  formation  then  of  such  an  image  being  necessary  (no 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


15 


matter  how)  to  the  sense  of  sight,  and  to  the  exercise  of 
that  sense,  the  apparatus  by  which  it  is  formed  is  con- 
structed and  put  together,  not  only  with  infinitely  more  art, 
but  upon  the  selfsame  principles  of  art,  as  in  the  telescope 
or  the  camera  obscura.  The  perception  arising  from  the 
image  may  be  laid  out  of  the  question ; for  the  production 
of  the  image,  these  are  instruments  of  the  same  kind. 
The  end  is  the  same;  the  means  are  the  same.  The  pur- 
pose in  both  is  alike,  the  contrivance  for  accomplishing 
that  purpose  is  in  both  alike.*  The  lenses  of  the  telescope, 
[Plate  II.  fig.  3,  4.]  and  the  humours  of  the  eye,  bear  a 
complete  resemblance  to  one  another,  in  their  figure,  their 
position,  and  in  their  power  ^ver  the  rays  of  light,  viz.  in 
bringing  each  pencil  to  a point  at  the  right  distance  from 
the  lens;  namely,  in  the  eye,  at  the  exact  place  where  the 
membrane  is  spread  to  receive  it.  How  is  it  possible,  un- 
der circumstances  of  such  close  affinity,  and  under  the 
operation  of  equal  evidence,  to  exclude  contrivance  from 
the  one,  yet  to  acknowledge  the  proof  of  contrivance  hav- 
ing been  employed,  as  the  plainest  and  clearest  of  all  pro- 
positions, in  the  other 

The  resemblance  between  the  two  cases  is  still  more  ac- 
curate, and  obtains  in  more  points  than  we  have  yet  repre- 
sented, or  than  we  are,  on  the  first  view  of  the  subject, 
aware  of  In  dioptric  telescopes  there  is  an  imperfection 
of  this  nature.  Pencils  of  light,  in  passing  through  glass 
lenses,  are  separated  into  different  colors,  thereby  tinging 
the  object,  especially  the  edges  of  it,  as  if  it  were  viewed 
through  a prism.  To  correct  this  inconvenience  had  been 
long  a desideratum  in  the  art.  At  last  it  came  into  the 
mind  of  a sagacious  optician,  to  inquire  how  this  matter 
was  managed  in  the  eye;  in  which  there  was  exactly  the 
same  difficulty  to  contend  with  as  in  the  telescope.  His 
observation  taught  him,  that,  in  the  eye,  the  evil  was  cur- 
ed by  combining  lenses  composed  of  diflJerent  substances, 
i.  e.  of  substances  which  possessed  different  refracting 
powers.  Our  artist  borrowed  thence  his  hint,  and  pro- 
duced a correction  of  the  defect  by  imitating,  in  glasses 

* The  comparison  with  the  lens  of  the  telescope  is  not  perfectly  exact 
for  the  crystalline  lens  is  a substance  composed  of  concentric  layers,  of 
unequal  density,  the  hardness  of  which  increases  from  the  surface  to  the 
centre/  and  hence  possesses  a more  refractive  power  than  any  artificial 
lens.  Mr.  Ramsden  supposes  that  this  texture  tends  to  correct  the  aber- 
ration occasioned  by  the  spherical  form  of  the  cornea,  and  the  focus  of 
each  oblique  pencil  of  rays  fails  accurately  on  the  concave  surface  of 
the  rotira  — Paxton, 


16 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


Hiade  from  different  materials,  the  effects  of  the  different 
humours  through  which  the  rays  of  light  pass  before  they 
<each  the  bottom  of  the  eye.  Could  this  be  in  the  eye 
without  purpose,  which  suggested  to  the  optician  the  only 
effectual  means  of  attaining  that  purpose  ? * 

But  farther;  there  are  other  points,  not  so  much  perhaps 
of  strict  resemblance  between  the  two,  as  of  superiority  of 
the  eye  over  the  telescope,  which  being  found  in  the  laws 
that  regulate  both,  may  furnish  topics  of  fair  and  just  com- 
parison. Two  things  were  wanted,  to  the  eye,  which 
were  not  wanted  (at  least  in  the  same  degree)  to  the  teles- 
cope: and  these  were  the  adaptation  of  the  organ,  first, 
to  different  degrees  of  light;  and,  secondly,  to  the  vast 
diversity  of  distance  at  which  objects  are  viewed  by  the 
naked  eye,  viz.  from  a few  inches  to  as  many  miles.  These 
difficulties  present  not  themselves  to  the  maker  of  the 
telescope.  He  wants  all  the  light  he  can  get;  and  he 
never  directs  his  instrument  to  objects  near  at  hand.  In 
the  eye,  both  these  cases  were  to  be  provided  for;  and  for 
the  purpose  of  providing  for  them  a subtile  and  appropriate 
mechanism  is  introduced: — 

* “ It  does  not  appear  that  the  hint  of  this  discovery  was  taken  by 
IMr.  Dollond  from  the  structure  of  the  eye,  as  supposed  l)y  our  author, 
but  was  obtained  in  a different  manner.  '^I'his  circumstance  does  not 
however  lessen  the  force  of  the  reasoning.  '1  he  principle  thus  applied 
in  the  construction  of  achromatic  telescopes,  has  been  since  carried  still 
farther,  and  in  its  new  application,  illustrates  more  strongly,  if  possible, 
the  point  so  well  insisted  on  by  Dr.  i’aley,  namely,  the  resemblance  be- 
tween the  eye  and  our  optical  instrutiients.  Tn  the  best  achromatic  tele- 
scopes, composed  of  the  different  kinds  of  glass,  according  to  the  discov- 
ery of  Mr.  Dollond,  white  or  luminous  objects  are  not  i^\\o\\\\‘pe7'fectIy  free 
from  color,  their  edges  being  tinged  on  one  side  with  a claret  colored, 
and  on  the  other  with  a greenish  fringe.  M his  remaining  imperfection 
has  been  got  rid  of  by  the  combination  p.uUd  and  finid  lenses  in  the 
object  and  eye-glasses  of  telescopes.  For  this  beautif^ul  discovery  science 
is  indebted  to  Dr.  Blair  of  i\linburgb,  who  found  that  by  placing  a con- 
cave lens  of  muriatic  acid  with  a metallic  solution,  between  two  convex 
lenses  of  glass,  a combined  lens  was  Ibrrned  which  refracted  rays  with 
perfect  regularity  and  equality.  A lens  lil>:e  this  has  been  used  with 
great  advantage.  '1  he  most  important  [)oint  is,  however,  to  consider 
this  improvement  in  iu  applic.ition  to  the  argument,  and  it  will  be  seen 
how  much  nearer  this  construction  brings  tin.*  telescope  to  the  eye.  In 
Dollond’s  telescope  there  is  a combination  of  srdid  lenses  of  diflerent 
substances. — In  idair's,  a combination  oi'  fluid  and  solid  ; which  is  ex- 
actly the  case  in  the  human  eye.  'I  be  oidy  ditference  is,  that  in  the  eye 
there  is  a solid  lens  between  two  fluid  ones  ; and  in  the  telescope  a fluid 
between  two  solid,  d he  combination  is  closely  similar,  and  the  final 
cause  in  both  probably  the  same,  namely,  to  correct  the  unequal  refrac- 
tion ofligh." — See  Kdinhvr^h  Journal  of  Science,  iXo.  viii  p 212  : 
Rjid  Library  of  Useful  Knowledge,  iXo  1 & 12.  \^Ed. 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


17 


J.  In  order  to  exclude  excess  of  light,  when  it  is  ex 
cessive,  and  to  render  objects  visible  under  obscurer  degrees 
of  it,  when  no  more  can  be  had,  the  hole  or  aperture  in 
the  eye,  through  which  the  light  enters,  is  so  formed,  as  to 
contract  or  dilate  itself  for  the  purpose  of  admitting  a great- 
er or  less  number  of  rays  at  the  same  time.  The  cham- 
ber of  the  eye  is  a camera  obscura,*  which,  when  the  light 
is  too  small,  can  enlarge  its  opening;  when  too  strong, 
can  again  contract  it;  and  that  without  any  other  assist- 
ance than  that  of  its  own  exquisite  machinery.  It  is  far- 
ther also,  in  the  human  subject,  to  be  observed,  that  this 
hole  in  the  eye,  which  we  call  the  pupil,  under  all  its  dif- 
ferent dimensions,  retains  its  exact  circular  shape.  This 
is  a structure  extremely  artificial.  Let  an  artist  only  try 
to  execute  the  same;  he  will  find  that  his  threads  and 
strings  must  be  disposed  with  great  consideration  and  con- 
trivance to  make  a circle,  which  shall  continually  change 
its  diameter,  yet  preserve  its  form.  This  is  done  in  the 
eye  by  an  application  of  fibres,  i.  e.  of  strings,  similar,  in 
their  position  and  action,  to  what  an  artist  would  and  must 
employ,  if  he  had  the  same  piece  of  workmanship  to  per- 
form. [Plate  II.  Fig.  5 8c  6.]  | 

* As  the  rays  of  light  flowing  from  all  the  points  of  an  object  through 
the  pupil  of  the  eye,  by  the  relVaction  of  the  lens  and  humours  of  the 
eye,  form  an  exact  representation  at  the  bottom  of  the  eye  on  the  retina  ; 
80  the  camera  obscura,  by  means  of  a lens  refracting  the  rays,  exhibits  a 
picture  of  the  scene  before  it  on  the  opposite  wall. — Paxton, 

t Some  eminent  anatomists  have  doubted  the  muscularity  of  the  iris, 
and  have  given  very  diflerent  explanations  of  its  motions,  attributing  the 
contraction  and  dilatation  either  to  the  varied  impulse  of  the  blood  in  its 
vessels,  or  to  its  own  vita  propria.  The  enlightened  physiologist  Magen- 
die  aflirms,  that  the  latest  researches  upon  the  anatomy  of  the  iris  proves 
its  muscular  structure,  and  that  it  is  composed  of  two  layers  of  fibres,  the 
external,  Plate  II.  (Fig.  5.)  radiated^  which  dilate  the  pupil,  the  other 
(Fig.  6.)  circular,  which  contract  the  pupil.  The  external  circular 
fibres  appear  to' be  supported  by  a species  of  ring,  which  each  of  the  ra- 
diated fibres  contribute  to  form,  and  in  which  they  slide  during  the  alter- 
nate contractions  and  relaxations  of  the  pupil. — Paxton. 

There  is  a curious  circumstance,  in  the  way  in  which  light  produces  the 
contraction  of  the  opening  of  the  iris,  which  strengthens  very  much  the  ar- 
gument derived  from  design  manifested  in  its  structure  and  adaptation  to  its 
purpose.  The  object  of  the  iris,  it  is  to  be  observed,  has  reference  to  the 
quantity  of  hght  to  be  admitted  upon  the  retina  or  expansion  of  ''he  optic 
nerve.  It  is  the  state  of  the  retina  then  which  regulates  the  motmns  of  the 
iris,  and  it  is  the  action  of  the  lighten  the  retina  which  causes  those  mo- 
tions and  not  its  action  upon  the  iris  itself.  This  has  been  shown  by  a very 
delicate  experiment.  If  a ray  of  light  be  accurately  thrown  in  such  a 
direction,  that  it  shall  fall  upon  the  circle  of  the  iris  itself,  and  not  pass 
through  its  aperture,  no  contraction  of  the  aperture  takes  place;  but  if  it 


18 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


II.  The  second  difficulty  which  has  been  stated,  was  the 
suiting  of  the  same  organ  to  the  perception  of  objects  tha. 
lie  near  at  hand,  within  a few  inches,  we  will  suppose,  of 
the  eye,  and  of  objects  which  are  placed  at  a considerable 
distance  from  it,  that,  for  example,  of  as  many  furlongs; 
(I  speak  in  both  cases  of  the  distance  at  which  distinct 
vision  can  be  exercised.)  Now  this,  according  to  the 
principles  of  optics,  that  is,  according  to  the  laws  by  which 
the  transmission  of  light  is  regulated,  (and  these  laws  are 
fixed,)  could  not  be  done  without  the  organ  itself  under- 
going an  alteration  and  receiving  an  adjustment,  that 
might  correspond  with  the  exigency  of  the  case,  that  is  to 
say,  with  the  different  inclination  to  one  another  under 
which  the  rays  of  light  reached  it.  Rays  issuing  from  points 
placed  at  a small  distance  from  the  eye,  and  which  conse- 
quently must  enter  the  eye  in  a spreading  or  diverging 
order,  cannot,  by  the  same  optical  instrument  in  the  same 
state,  be  brought  to  a point,  i.  e.  be  made  to  form  an  image, 
in  the  same  place  wdth  rays  proceeding  from  objects  situat- 
ed at  a much  greater  distance,  and  which  rays  arrive  at  the 
eye  in  directions  nearly  (and  physically  speaking)  parallel. 
It  requires  a rounder  lens  to  do  it.  The  point  of  concourse 
behind  the  lens  must  fall  critically  upon  the  retina,  or  the 
vision  is  confused;*  yet  other  things  remaining  the  same, 
this  point,  by  the  immutable  properties  of  light,  is  carried 
farther  back  when  the  rays  proceed  from  a near  object  than 
when  they  are  sent  from  one  that  is  remote.  A person  who 
was  using  an  optical  instrument,  would  manage  this  matter 
by  changing,  as  the  occasion  required,  his  lens  or  his  tele- 
scopes; or  by  adjusting  the  distance  of  his  glasses  with  his 
hand  or  his  screw:  but  how  is  it  to  be  managed  in  the  eye? 
What  the  alteration  was,  or  in  what  part  of  the  eye  it  took 
place,  or  by  what  means  it  was  effected,  (for  if  the  known 

be  so  thrown  as  to  pass  through  the  aperture,  and  fall  upon  the  retina 
without  touching  the  iris  at  all,  still  a contraction  of  the  iris  immediately 
takes  place.  So  that  light  upon  the  iris  alone  occasions  no  contraction, 
although  it  is  the  part  which  really  contracts  when  the  same  liglit  falls 
upon  a distant  part.  The  d-esign  here  is  too  obvious  to  need  being  en- 
larged upon.  How  could  the  iris  acquire  the  power  of  contracting  when 
light  falls  on  another  membrane,  for  the  protection  of  that  membrane  ? 
although  it  does  not  contract  when  the  light  falls  upon  itself  alone  ? — [ Ed. 

* 'J  lie  focus  of  the  refracted  rays  must  fall  exactly  on  the  retina,  so 
that  the  point  of  vision  may  be  neither  produced  beyond  it,  nor  shorten- 
ed 80  as  not  to  reach  it.  'The  latter  defect  exists  in  short-sighted  per 
sons,  from  too  great  convexity  of  the  cornea  or  lens.  "J'he  former  is  the 
defect  of  long-sighted  persons,  in  whom  there  is  an  opposite  conforma- 
tion of  tliose  parts. — Paxton. 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


19 


/s  which  govern  the  refraction  of  light  be  maintained, 
some  alteration  in  the  state  of  the  organ  there  must  be,  ) 
had  long  formed  a subject  of  inquiry  and  conjecture. 
The  change.  Chough  sufficient  for  the  purpose,  is  so  minute 
as  to  elude  ordinary  observation.  Some  very  late  discove- 
ries, deduced  from  a laborious  and  most  accurate  inspection 
of  the  structure  and  operation  of  the  organ,  seem  at  length 
to  haA  e ascertained  the  mechanical  alteration  which  the 
parts  of  the  eye  undergo.  It  is  found,  that  by  the  action  of 
certain  muscles  [PI.  II.  fig.  7.]  called  the  straight  muscles, 
and  which  action  is  the  most  advantageous  that  could  be 
imagined  for  the  purpose, — it  is  found,  I say,  that  whenever 
the  eye  is  directed  to  a near  object,  three  changes  are  produc- 
ed in  it  at  the  same  time,  all  severally  contributing  to  the  ad- 
justment required.  The  cornea,  or  outermost  coat  of  the 
eye,  is  rendered  more  round  and  prominent ; the  crystalline 
lens  underneath  is  pushed  forwards;  and  the  axis  of 
vision,  as  the  depth  of  the  eye  is  called,  is  elongated. 
These  changes  in  the  eye  vary  its  power  over  the  rays  of 
light  in  such  a manner  and  degree  as  to  produce  exactly 
the  effect  which  is  wanted,  viz.  the  formation  of  an  image 
upon  the  retina,  whether  the  rays  come  to  the  eye  in  a 
state  of  divergency,  which  is  the  case  when  the  object  is 
near  to  the  eye,  or  come  parallel  to  one  another,  which  is 
the  case  when  the  object  is  placed  at  a distance.  Can  any- 
thing be  more  decisive  of  contrivance  than  this  is.^  The 
most  secret  laws  of  optics  must  have  been  known  to  the 
author  of  a structure  endowed  with  such  a capacity  of 
change.  It  is  as  though  an  optician,  when  he  had  a 
nearer  object  to  view,  should  rectify  his  instrument  by 
putting  in  another  glass,  at  the  same  time  drawing  out 
also  his  tube  to  a different  length. 

Observe  a new-born  child  first  lifting  up  its  eyelids 
What  does  the  opening  of  the  curtain  discover?  The  an- 
terior part  of  two  pellucid  globes,  which,  when  they  come 
to  be  examined,  are  found  to  be  constructed  upon  strict  op- 
tical principles  ; the  selfsame  principles  upon  which  we 
ourselves  construct  optical  instruments.  We  find  them 
perfect  for  the  purpose  of  forming  an  image  by  refraction ; 
composed  of  parts  executing  different  offices  ; one  part 
having  fulfilled  its  office  upon  the  pencil  of  light,  deliver- 
ing it  over  to  the  action  of  another  part ; that  to  a third, 
and  so  onward;  the  progressive  action  depending  for  its 
success  upon  the  nicest  and  minutest  adjustment  of  the 
parts  conctrned;  yet  these  parts  so  in  fact  adjusted,  as  t<? 


^iO 


ArPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


produce,  not  by  a simple  action  or  effect,  but  by  a combi- 
nation of  actions  and  effects,  the  result  which  is  ultimately 
wanted.  And  forasmuch  as  this  organ  would  have  to  ope- 
rate under  different  circumstances,  with  strong  degrees  of 
light  and  with  weak  degrees,  upon  near  objects,  and  upon 
remote  ones,  and  these  differences  demanded,  according  tc 
the  laws  by  which  the  transmission  of  light  is  regulated,  a 
corresponding  diversity  of  structure  ; that  the  aperture, 
for  example,  through  which  the  light  passes,  should  be 
larger  or  less  ; the  lenses  rounder  or  flatter,  or  that  their 
distance  from  the  tablet,  upon  which  the  picture  is  delinea- 
ted, should  be  shortened  or  lengthened : this,  I say,  being 
the  case,  and  the  difficulty  to  which  the  eye  was  to  be 
adapted,  we  find  its  several  parts  capable  of  being  occa- 
sionally changed,  and  a most  artificial  apparatus  provided 
to  produce  that  change.  This  is  far  beyond  the  common 
regulator  of  a watch,  which  requires  the  touch  of  a foreign 
hand  to  set  it;  but  it  is  not  altogether  unlike  Harrison's  con- 
trivance for  making  a watch  regulate  itself,  by  inserting 
within  it  a machinery,  which,  by  the  artful  use  of  the  dif- 
ferent expansion  of  metals,  preserves  the  equability  of  the 
motion  under  all  the  various  temperatures  of  heat  and  cold 
in  which  the  instrument  may  happen  to  be  placed.  The 
ingenuity  of  this  last  contrivance  has  been  justly  praised. 
Shall,  therefore,  a structure  which  differs  from  it,  chiefly  by 
surpassing  it,  be  accounted  no  contrivance  at  all } or,  if  it 
be  a contrivance,  that  it  is  without  a contriver? 

But  this,  though  much,  is  not  the  whole  : by  different 
species  of  animals  the  faculty  we  are  describing  is  possess- 
ed, in  degrees  suited  to  the  different  range  of  vision  which 
their  mode  of  life,  and  of  procuring  their  food,  requires. 
Birds,  for  instance,  in  general,  procure  their  food  by  means 
of  their  beak;  and,  the  distance  between  the  eye  and  the 
point  of  the  beak  being  small,  ii  becomes  necessary  that 
they  should  have  the  power  of  seeing  very  near  objects 
distinctly.  On  the  other  hand,  from  being  often  elevaled 
much  above  the  ground,  living  in  air,  and  moving  through 
it  with  great  velocity,  they  require,  for  their  safety,  as  well 
as  for  assisting  them  in  descrying  their  prey,  a power 
of  seeing  at  a great  distance;  a power,  of  which,  in  birds 
of  rapine,  surprising  examples  are  given.  The  fact  ac- 
cordingly is,  that  two  peculiarities  are  found  in  the  eyes 
of  birds,  both  tending  to  fctcililofe  the  change  upon  which 
the  adjustment  of  the  eye  to  diflerent  distances  depends. 
The  one  is  a bony,  yet,  in  most  species,  a flexible  rim  or 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


2J 


hoop,*  [Plate  III.  fig.  1,  2.]  surrounding  the  broadest  part 
of  the  eye;  which,  confining  the  action  of  the  muscles  to 
vhat  part,  increases  the  effect  of  their  lateral  pressure  upon 
the  orb,  by  which  pressure  its  axis  is  elongated  for  the  pur- 
pose of  looking  at  very  near  objects.  The  o^her  is  an  ad- 
ditional muscle,  called  the  marsupium,  [Plate  III.  fig.  3,  4, 
D.]  to  draw,  upon  occasion,  the  crystalline  lens  hack,  and 
to  fit  the  same  eye  for  the  viewing  of  very  distant  objects 
By  these  means,  the  eyes  of  birds  can  pass  from  one  ex 
tieme  to  another  of  their  scale  of  adjustment,  with  mere 
case  and  readiness  than  the  eyes  of  other  animals. 

The  eyes  of  fishes  also,  compared  with  those  of  terres- 
trial animals,  exhibit  certain  distinctions  of  structure  adap- 
ted to  their  state  and  element.  We  have  already  ob- 
served upon  the  figure  of  the  crystalline  compensating  by 
its  roundness  the  density  of  the  medium  through  which 
their  light  passes.  To  which  we  have  to  add,  that  the  eyes 
of  fish,  in  their  natural  and  indolent  state,  appear  to  he 
adjusted  to  near  objects,  in  this  respect  differing  from  the 
human  eye,  as  well  as  those  of  quadrupeds  and  birds.  The 
ordinary  shape  of  the  fish’s  eye  being  in  a much  higher 
degree  convex  than  that  of  land  animals,  a corresponding 
difference  attends  its  muscular  conformation,  viz.  that  it  is 
throughout  calculated  for  flattening  the  eye. 

The  iris  also  in  the  eyes  of  fish  does  not  admit  of  con- 
traction. This  is  a great  difference,  of  which  the  proba- 
ble reason  is,  that  the  diminished  light  in  water  is  never 
too  strong  for  the  retina. 

In  the  eel,  [Plate  III.  fig.  5.]^which  has  to  work  its  head 

* The  flexible  rini,  or  hoop,  consists  of  bony  plates,  which  in  all 
birds  occupy  the  front  of  the  sclerotic;  lying  close  together  and  overlap- 
ping each  other.  These  bony  plates  in  general  form  a slightly  convex 
ring,  Fig.  1,  but  in  the  accipitres  they  form  a concave  ring,  as  in  Fig.  2, 
the  bony  rim  of  a hawk.  It  is  a principle  in  optics,  that  the  rays  of  light, 
passing  through  a lens,  will  be  refracted  to  a point  or  focus  beyond  the 
lens,  and  this  focus  will  be  less  distant  in  proportion  as  the  lens  approach- 
es to  a sphere  in  shape.  This  principle  is  very  naturally  applied  to  the 
explanation  of  the  use  of  this  apparatus.  These  scales  partly  lying  over 
each  other,  so  as  to  allow  of  motion,  will,  on  the  contraction  of  the 
straight  muscles  inserted  into  and  covering  them,  move  over  each  other, 
and  dinnnish  the  circle  of  the  sclerotica;  and  thus  the  cornea,  w^hich  is 
immediately  within  the  circle  made  by  these  scales,  must  be  pressed 
forward*  and  rendered  more  convex,  from  the  focus  of  the  eye  becoming 
altered,  oy  its  axis  being  elongated.  This  consequent  convexity  of  the 
cornea  renders  small  objects  near  the  animal  very  distinct.  Without  this 
structure  a bird  would  be  continually  liable  to  dash  itself  against  tree‘s 
when  flying  in  a thick  forest,  and  would  be  unable  to  see  the  minn' 
objects  on  which  it  sometimes  feeds. — Paxton, 


22 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


througli  sand  and  gravel,  the  roughest  and  harshest  sub- 
stances, there  is  placed  before  the  eye,  and  at  some  dis- 
tance from  it,  a transparent,  horny,  convex  case  or  cover- 
ing, which,  without  obstructing  the  sight,  defends  the  or- 
gan. To  such  an  animal,  could  anything  be  more  wanted, 
or  more  useful? 

Thus,  in  comparing  the  eyes  of  different  kinds  of  ani- 
mals, we  see,  in  their  resemblances  and  distinctions,  one 
general  plan  laid  down,  and  that  plan  varied  with  the  vary- 
ing exigencies  to  which  it  is  to  be  applied. 

There  is  one  property,  however,  common,  I believe,  to 
all  eyes,  at  least  to  all  which  have  been  examined,^  namely, 
that  the  optic  nerve  enters  the  bottom  of  the  eye,  not  in  the 
centre  or  middle,  but  a little  on  one  side;  not  in  the  point 
where  the  axis  of  the  eye  meets  the  retina,  but  between 
that  point  and  the  nose.  The  difference  which  this  makes 
is,  that  no  part  of  an  object  is  unperceived  by  both  eyes  at 
the  same  time. 

In  considen  ng  vision  as  achieved  by  the  means  of  an 
image  formed  at  the  bottom  of  the  eye,  we  can  never  re- 
flect without  wonder  upon  the  smallness,  yet  correctness, 
of  the  picture,  the  subtilty  of  the  touch,  the  fineness  of  the 
lines.  A landscape  of  five  or  six  square  leagues  is  brought 
into  a space  of  half  an  inch  diameter;  y^t  the  multitude  of 
objects  which  it  contains,  are  all  preservi^d;  are  all  discrim- 
inated in  their  magnitudes,  positions,  figures,  colors.  The 
prospect  from  Hampstead-hill  is  compressed  into  the  com- 
pass of  a sixpence,  yet  circumstantially  represented.  A 
stage-coach,  travelling  at  ^its  ordinary  speed  for  half  an 
hour,  passes,  in  the  eye,  only  over  one-twelfth  of  an  inch, 
yet  is  this  change  of  place  in  the  image  distinctly  per- 
ceived throughout  its  whole  progress;  for  it  is  qnly  by 
means  of  that  perception  that  the  motion  of  the  coach  it- 
self is  made  sensible  to  the  eye.  If  anything  can  abate 
our  admiration  of  the  smallness  of  the  visual  tablet  compar- 
ed with  the  extent  of  vision,  it  is  a reflection,  which  the 
view  of  nature  leads  us,  every  hour,  to  make,  viz.  that  in 
lie  hands  of  the  Creator,  great  and  little  are  nothing. 

Sturmius  held,  that  the  examination  of  the  eye  was 
a cure  for  atheism.  Besides  that  conformity  to  optical 
principles  which  its  internal  constitution  displays,  and 
which  alone  amounts  to  a manifestation  of  intelligence  hav 
ing  been  exerted  in  the  structure;  besides  this,  which  forms 

* The  eve  of  tie  seal  or  sea-calf,  I understand,  is  an  exception. — Mem 
Acad  Paris,  1701,  p.  123. 


APPLICATION  OF  TUE  ARGUMENT. 


23 


no  doubt,  the  leading  character  of  the  organ,  there  is  to  be 
seen,  in  everything  belonging  to  it  and  about  it,  an  ex- 
traordinary degree  of  care,  and  anxiety  for  its  preservation, 
due.  if  we  may  so  speak,  to  its  value  and  its  tenderness.  It 
is  lodged  in  a strong,  deep,  bony  socket,  composed  by  the 
junction  of  seven  different  bones,*  hoik  wed  out  at  their 
edges.  In  some  few  species,  as  that  of  the  coatimondi, f 
the  orbit  is  not  bony  throughout;  but  whenever  this  is  the 
case,  the  upper,  which  is  the  deficient  part,  is  supplied  by 
a cartilaginous  ligament;  a substitution  which  shows  the 
same  care.  Within  this  socket  it  is  embedded  in  fat,  of 
all  animal  substances  the  best  adapted  both  to  its  repose 
and  motion.  It  is  sheltered  by  the  eyebrows;  an  arch  of 
hair,  which,  like  a thatched  penthouse,  prevents  the  sweat 
Und  moisture  of  the  forehead  from  running  down  into  it. 

But  it  is  still  better  protected  by  its  lid.  Of  the  super- 
ficial parts  of  the  animal  frame,  I know  none  which,  in 
its  office  and  structure,  is  more  deserving  of  attention  than 
the  eyelid.  It  defends  the  eye;  it  wipes  it;  it  closes  it  in 
sleep. J Are  there,  in  any  work  of  art  whatever,  purposes 
more  evident  than  those  which  this  organ  fulfils.^  or  an 
apparatus  for  executing  those  purposes  more  intelligible, 
more  appropriate,  or  more  m^echanical  ^ If  it  be  overlooked 
by  the  observer  of  nature,  it  can  only  be  because  it  is  ob- 
vious and  familiar.  This  is  a tendency  to  be  guarded 
against.  We  pass  by  the  plainest  instances,  whilst  we  are 
exploring  those  which  are  rare  and  curious;  by  which  con- 
duct of  the  uiderstanding,  we  sometimes  neglect  the 
strongest  observations,  being  taken  up  with  others,  which, 
though  more  recondite  and  scientific,  are,  as  solid  argu- 
ments, entitled  to  much  less  consideration. 

In  order  to  keep  the  eye  moist  and  clean,  (which  qualities 
are  necessary  to  its  brightness  and  its  use,)  a wash  is  con- 
stantly supplied  by  a secretion  for  the  purpose;  and  the 
superfluous  brine  is  conveyed  to  the  nose  through  a perfora- 
tion in  the  bone  as  large  as  a goose-quill.  [Plate  IV.  fig.  1 .] 
When  once  the  fluid  has  entered  the  nose,  it  spreads  itself 
upon  the  inside  of  the  nostril,  and  is  evaporated  by  the  cur- 
rent of  \varm  air,  which,  in  the  course  of  respiration,  is  con* 

* Heister,  sect.  89.  t Mem.  of  the  R.  Ac.  Paris,  p.  117. 

t The  muscles  which  accomplish  these  actions  are  seen  in  Tab.  XIV. 
Fig.  1,  2.  The  eyelids  also  moderate  the  force  of  a too  brilliant  light, 
and  exclude,  by  a partial  closure,  that  excess  of  it  wdiich  would  oifend 
the  eye.  The  eyelashes  have  a similar  office,  that  of  regulating  the 
quantity  of  light:  and  it  is  believed,  that  they  protect  the  eye  from  the 
■mail  particles  of  dust  that  float  in  the  air. — Paxton. 


24 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARC  ITMENT. 


tinually  passing  over  it.  Can  any  pipe  or  outlet  for  cany 
ing  off' the  waste  liquor  from  a dye-house  or  a distillery,  be 
more  mechanical  than  this  is?  It  is  easily  perceived,  that 
the  eye  must  want  moisture:  but  could  the  want  of  the  eye 
generate  the  gland  which  produces  the  tear,  or  bore  the  hole 
by  v/hich  it  is  discharged, — a hole  through  a bone? 

It  is  observable,  that  this  provision  is  not  found  in  fish; 
the  element  in  which  they  live  supplying  a constant  lotion 
to  the  eye.  « 

It  were,  however,  injustice  to  dismiss  the  eye  as  apiece 
of  mechanism,  without  noticing  that  most  exquisite  of  all 
contrivances,  the  niclitaiing  membrane , which  is  found  in 
the  eyes  of  birds  and  of  many  quadrupeds.  [Plate  IV.  fig. 
2.]  Its  use  is  to  sweep  the  eye,  which  it  does  in  an  in- 
stant; to  spread  over  it  the  lachrymal  humour;  to  defend 
it  also  from  sudden  injuries:  yet  not  totally,  when  drawn 
upon  the  pupil,  to  shut  out  the  light.  The  commodious 
ness  with  which  it  lies  folded  up  in  the  inner  corner  of 
the  eye,  ready  for  use  and  action,  and  the  quickness  with 
which  it  executes  its  purpose,  are  properties  known  and 
obvious  to  every  observer:  but  what  is  equally  admirable, 
though  not  quite  so  obvious,  is  the  combination  of  two 
different  kinds  of  substance,  muscular  and  elastic,  and  ot 
two  different  kinds  of  action,  by  which  the  motion  of  this 
membrane  is  performed.  It  is  not,  as  in  ordinary  cases, 
by  the  action  of  two  antagonist  muscles,  one  pulling  for- 
ward and  the  other  backward,  that  a reciprocal  change  is 
effected;  but  it  is  thus:  The  membrane  itself  is  an  elastic 
substance,  capable  of  being  drawn  out  by  force  like  a piece 
of  elastic  gum,  and  by  its  own  elasticity  returning,  when 
the  force  is  removed,  to  its  former  position.  Such  being 
its  nature,  in  order  to  fit  it  up  for  its  office,  it  is  connected 
by  a tendon  or  thread  with  a muscle  in  the  back  part  of 
the  eye:  this  tendon  or  thread,  though  strong,  is  so  fine 
as  not  to  obstruct  the  sight,  even  when  it  passes  across  it; 
and  the  muscle  itself,  being  placed  in  the  hack  part  of  the 
eye,  [Plate  IV.  fig.  3,  4,  and  5,]  derives  from  its  situation 
the  advantage,  not  only  of  being  secure,  but  of  being  out 
of  the  way;  which  it  would  hardly  have  been  in  any  posi- 
tion that  could  be  assigned  to  it  in  the  anterior  part  of  the 
orb,  where  its  function  lies.  When  the  muscle  behind  the 
eye  contracts,  tire  membrane,  by  means  of  the  communi- 
cating thread,  is  instantly  drawn  over  the  forc-])art  of  it. 
When  the  muscular  contraction  (which  is  a positive,  and, 
most  probably,  a voluntary  effort,)  ceases  to  be  exerted, 
the  elasticity  alone  of  the  membrane  brings  it  back  again 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


25 


10  its  position. Does  not  this,  if  anything  can  do  it,  be- 
speak an  artist,  master  of  his  work,  acquainted  with  his 
materials.^  ‘‘  Of  a thousand  other  things,”  say  the  French 
academicians,  ‘‘we  perceive  not  the  contrivance,  because 
we  understand  them  only  by  the  effects,  of  which  we  Know 
not  the  causes:  but  we  here  treat  of  a machine,  all  the 
parts  whereof  are  visible;  and  which  need  only  to  be 
looked  upon  to  discover  the  reasons  of  its  motion  and  ac- 
tion.”! 

In  the  configuration  of  the  muscle  which,  though  placed 
behind  the  eye,  draws  the  nictitating  membrane  over  the 
eye,  there  is,  what  the  authors  just  now  quoted,  deserved- 
ly call  a marvellous  mechanism.  I suppose  this  structure 
to  be  found  in  other  animals;  but,  in  the  memoirs  from 
which  this  account  is  taken,  it  is  anatomically  demonstrat- 
ed only  in  the  cassowary.  The  muscle  is  passed  through 
a loop  formed  by  another  muscle;  and  is  there  inflected, 
as  if  it  were  round  a pulley.  This  is  a peculiarity;  and 
observe  the  advantage  of  it.  A single  muscle  with  a 
straight  tendon,  which  is  the  common  muscular  form,  would 
have  been  sufficient,  if  it  had  had  power  to  draw  far 
enough.  But  the  contraction,  necessary  to  draw  the  mem- 
brane over  the  whole  eye,  required  a longer  muscle  than 
could  lie  straight  at  the  bottom  of  the  eye.  Therefore, 
in  order  to  have  a greater  length  in  a less  compass,  the 
cord  of  the  main  muscle  makes  an  angle.  This,  so  far, 
answers  the  end;  but,  still  farther,  it  makes  an  angle, 
not  round  a fixed  pivot,  but  round  a loop  formed  by  another 
muscle;  which  second  muscle,  whenever  it  contracts,  of 
course  twitches  the  first  muscle  at  the  point  of  inflection 
and  thereby  assists  the  action  designed  by  both. 

One  question  may  possibly  have  dwelt  in  the  reader's 
mind  during  the  perusal  of  these  observations,  namely.  Why 
should  not  the  Deity  have  given  to  the  animal  the  faculty 
of  vision  at  once'^  Why  this  circuitous  perception;  the 
ministry  of  so  many  means;  an  element  provided  for  the 
purpose;  reflected  from  opaque  substances,  refracted 
through  transparent  ones;  and  both  according  to  p^'ecise 
laws;  then,  a complex  organ,  an  intricate  and  artificial  ap- 
paratus, in  order,  by  the  operation  of  this  element,  and  in 
conformity  with  the  restrictions  of  these  laws,  to  produce  an 
image  upon  a membrane  communicating  with  the  brain 

*Phil.  Tran.  179(5. 

t Memoirs  for  a Natural  History  of  Animals  y the  Royal  Academy 
of  Sciences  at  Paris,  done  into  English  by  ’order  of  the  Royal  Society. 
1701,  p.  249. 

C 


26 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


Wherefore  all  this?  Why  make  the  difficulty  in  order 
to  surmount  it?  If  to  perceive  objects  by  some  other 
mode  than  that  of  touch,  or  objects  which  lay  out  of 
the  reach  oT that  sense,  were  the  thing  purposed;  could  not 
a simple  volition  of  the  Creator  have  communicated  tie  ca- 
pacity ? Why  resort  to  contrivance,  where  power  is  omnip- 
otent? Contrivance,  by  its  very  definition  and  nature,  is 
the  refuge  of  imperfection.  To  have  recourse  to  expedi- 
ents, implies  difficulty,  impediment,  restraint,  defect  of 
power.  This  question  belongs  to  the  other  senses,  as  well 
as  to  sights;  to  the  general  functions  of  animal  life,  as  nu- 
trition, secretion,  respiration;  to  the  economy  of  vegeta- 
bles; and  indeed  to  almost  all  the  operations  of  nature. 
The  question,  therefore,  is  of  very  wide  extent;  and 
amongst  other  answers  which  may  be  given  to  it,  beside  rea- 
sons of  which  probably  we  are  ignorant,  one  answer  is  this: 
It  is  only  by  the  display  of  contrivance,  that  the  existence, 
the  agency,  the  wisdom  of  the  Deity,  could  be  testified  to 
his  rational  creatures.  This  is  the  scale  by  which  we  as- 
cend to  all  the  knowledge  of  our  Creator  which  we  possess, 
so  far  as  it  depends  upon  the  phenomena,  or  the  works  of  na- 
ture. Take  away  this,  and  you  take  away  from  us  every  sub- 
ject ofobservation,  and  ground  of  reasoning;  I mean  as  our 
rational  faculties  are  formed  at  present.  Whatever  is  done, 
God  could  have  done,  without  the  intervention  of  instru- 
ments or  means:  but  it  is  in  the  construction  of  instru- 
ments, in  the  choice  and  adaptation  of  means,  that  a crea- 
tive intelligence  is  seen.  It  is  this  which  constitutes  the 
order  and  beauty  of  the  universe.  God,  therefore,  has 
been  pleased  to  prescribe  limits  to  his  own  power,  and  to 
work  his  ends  within  those  limits.  The  general  laws  of 
matter  have  perhaps  the  nature  of  these  limits;  its  inertia, 
its  reaction;  the  laws  which  govern  the  communication  of 
motion,  the  refraction  and  reflection  of  light,  the  constitu- 
tion of  fluids  non-elastic  and  elastic,  the  transmission  of 
sound  through  the  latter;  the  laws  of  magnetism,  of  elec- 
tricity; and  probably  others,  yet  undiscovered.  These  are 
general  laws;  and  when  a particular  purpose  is  to  be  ef- 
fected, it  is  not  by  making  a new  law,  nor  by  the  suspen- 
sion of  the  old  ones,  nor  by  making  them  wind,  and  bend, 
and  yield  to  the  occasion ; (for  nature  with  great  steadiness 
adheres  to  and  supports  them;)  but  it  is,  as  we  have  seen 
in  the  eye,  by  the  interposition  of  an  apparatus,  correspond- 
ing with  these  law'^,  and  suited  to  the  exigency  whicli  re- 
sults from  them,  that  thp  purpose  is  at  length  attained.  As 
we  have  said,  therefore,  God  prescribes  linfits  to  his  power, 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT 


21 


that  he  may  let  in  the  exercise,  and  thereby  exhibit  demon- 
strations of  his  wisdom.  For  then,  i.  e.  such  laws  and  lim- 
itations being  laid  down,  it  is  as  though  one  Being  should 
have  fixed  certain  rules;  and,  if  we  may  so  speak,  provid- 
ed certain  materials;  and,  afterwards,  have  committed  to 
another  Being  out  of  these  materials,  and  in  subordination 
to  thesG  rules,  the  task  of  drawing  forth  a creation ; a sup- 
position which  evidently  leaves  room,  and  induces  indeed  a 
necessity  for  contrivance.  Nay,  there  may  be  many  such 
agents,  and  many  ranks  of  these.  W e do  not  advance  this 
as  a doctrine  either  of  philosophy  or  of  religion;  but  we  say 
that  the  subject  may  safely  be  represented  under  this 
view,  because  the  Deity,  acting  himself  by  general  laws, 
will  have  the  same  consequences  upon  our  reasoning, 
as  if  he  had  prescribed  these  laws  to  another.  It  hats  been 
said,  that  the  problem  of  creation  was,  attraction  and 
matter  being  given,  to  make  a world  out  of  them;’’  and, 
as  above  explained,  this  statement  perhaps  does  not  convey 
a false  idea. 


We  have  made  choice  of  the  eye  as  an  instance  upon 
which  to  rest  the  argument  of  this  chapter.  Some  single 
example  was  to  be  proposed;  and  the  eye  offered  itself  un- 
der the  advantage  of  admitting  of  a strict  comparison  with 
optical  instruments.  The  ear,  it  is  probable,  is  no  less 
artificially  and  mechanically  adapted  to  its  office  than  the 
eye.  But  we  know  less  about  it:  we  do  not  so  well  un- 
derstand the  action,  the  use,  or  the  mutual  dependency  of 
its  internal  parts.  Its  general  form,  however,  both  external 
and  internal,  is  sufficient  to  show  that  it  is  an  instrument 
adapted  to  the  reception  of  sound;  that  is  to  say,  already 
knowing  that  sound  consists  in  pulses  of  the  air,  we  per- 
ceive, in  the  structure  of  the  ear,  a suitableness  to  receive  im- 
pressions from  this  species  of  action,  and  to  propagate  these 
impressions  to  the  brain.  For  of  what  does  this  structure 
consist  ? [Pl.V.fig.l.]  An  external  ear,  (the  concha,)  calcu- 
lated, like  an  ear-trumpet,  to  catch  and  collect  the  pulses  of 
which  we  have  spoken;  in  large  quadrupeds,  turning  to 
the  sound,  and  possessing  a configuration,  as  well  as  mo- 
tion, evidently  fitted  for  the  office:  of  a tube  which  leads 
into  the  head,  lying  at  the  root  of  this  outward  ear,  the 
folds  and  sinuses  thereof  tending  and  conducting  the  air 
towards  it:  of  a thin  membrane,  like  the  pelt  of  a drum, 
stretched  across  this  passage  upon  a bony  rim:  of  a chain 
of  moveable,  and  infinitely  curious  bones,  forming  a com- 


28 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


munication,  and  the  only  communication  that  can  be  ob- 
served, between  the  membrane  last  mentioned  and  the  m- 
terior  channels  and  recesses  of  the  skull:  of  cavites,  sirri- 
ilar  in  shape  and  form  to  wind  instruments  of  music,  being 
spiral  or  portions  of  circles:  of  the  eustachian  tube,  like 
the  hole  in  a drum,  to  let  the  air  pass  freely  into  and  out  of 
the  barrel  of  the  ear,  as  the  covering  membrane  vibrates,  or 
as  the  temperature  may  be  altered:  the  whole  labyrinth 
hewn  out  of  a rock;  that  is,  wrought  into  the  substance  of 
the  hardest  bone  of  the  body.  This  assemblage  of  con- 
nected parts  constitutes  together  an  apparatus,  plainly 
enough  relative  to  the  transmission  of  sound,  or  of  the  im- 
pulses received  from  sound,  and  only  to  be  lamented  in  not 
being  better  understood. 

The  communication  within,  formed  by  the  small  bones  of 
the  ear,  is,  to  look  upon,  more  like  what  we  are  accustomed 
to  call  machinery,  than  anything  I am  acquainted  with  in 
animal  bodies.  [PI.  V.  fig.  2.]  It  seems  evidently  designed 
to  continue  towards  the  sensorium,  the  tremulous  motions 
which  are  excited  in  the  membrane  of  the  tympanum,  or 
what  is  better  known  by  the  name  of  the  ‘‘  drum  of  the  ear.'’ 
The  compages  of  bones  consists  of  four,  which  are  so  dis- 
posed, and  so  hinge  upon  one  another,  as  that  if  the  mem- 
brane, the  drum  of  the  ear,  vibrate,  all  the  four  are  put  in 
motion  together;  and,  by  the  result  of  their  action,  work 
the  base  of  that  which  is  the  last  in  the  series,  upon  an 
aperture  which  it  closes,  and  upon  wliich  it  plays,  and 
which  aperture  opens  into  the  tortuous  canals  that  lead  to 
the  brain.  This  last  bone  of  the  four  is  called  the  stapes. 
The  office  of  the  drum  of  the  ear  is  to  spread  out  an  ex- 
tended surface,  capable  of  receiving  the  impressions  of 
sound,  and  of  being  put  by  them  into  a state  of  vibration. 
The  office  of  the  stapes  is  to  repeat  these  vibrations.  It  is 
a repeating  frigate,  stationed  more  within  the  line.  From 
which  account  of  its  action  may  . be  understood,  how  the 
sensation  of  sound  will  be  excited  by  anything  which 
communicates  a vibratory  motion  to  the  stapes,  though  not, 
as  in  all  ordinary  cases,  through  the  intervention  of  the 
iiiembrana  tympani.  This  is  done  by  solid  bodies  applied 
to  the  bones  of  the  skull,  as  by  a metal  bar  held  at  one 
end  between  the  teeth,  and  touching  at  the  other  end  a 
tremulous  body.  It  likewise  ajipears  to  be  done,  in  a con- 
siderable degree,  by  the  air  itself,  even  when  this  mem- 
brane, the  drum  of  the  ear,  is  greatly  damaged.  Either 
in  the  natural  or  preternatural  state  of  the  organ,  the  use 
of  the  chain  c f bones  is  to  pro  'ugate  the  impulse  in  a di 


APPLICATION  OF  THE  ARGUMEN'*' 


29 


rec^ion  towards  the  brain,  and  to  propagate  it  with  the  ad- 
vantage of  a lever;  which  advantage  consists  in  increasing 
the  force  and  stiength  of  the  vibration,  and  at  the  same 
time  diminishing  the  space  through  which  it  oscillates; 
both  of  which  changes  may  augment  or  facilitate  the  still 
deeper  action  of  the  auditory  nerves. 

The  benefit  of  the  eustachian  tube  to  the  organ,  may  be 
made  out  upon  known  pneumatic  principles.  Behind  the 
drum  of  the  ear  is  a second  cavity,  or  barrel,  called  the 
tympanum.  The  eustachian  tube  is  a slender  pipe,  but 
suificient  for  the  passage  of  air,  leading  from  this  cavity 
into  the  back  part  of  the  mouth.  Now,  it  would  not  have 
done  to  have  had  a vacuum  in  this  cavity;  for,  in  that  case, 
the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere  from  without  would  have 
burst  the  membrane  which  covered  it.  Nor  would  it  have 
done  to  have  filled  the  cavity  with  lymph  or  any  other 
secretion;  which  would  necessarily  have  obstructed,  both 
the  vibration  of  the  membrane  and  the  play  of  the  small 
bones.  Nor,  lastly,  would  it  have  done  to  have  occupied 
the  space  with  confined  air,  because  the  expansion  of  that 
air  by  heat,  or  its  contraction  by  cold,  would  have  distend- 
ed or  relaxed  the  covering  membrane,  in  a degree  inconsis- 
tent with  the  purpose  which  it  was  assigned  to  execute. 
The  only  remaining  expedient,  and  that  for  which  the 
eustachian  tube  serves,  is  to  open  to  this  cavity  a commu- 
nication with  the  external  air.  In  one  word;  it  exactly 
answers  the  purpose  of  the  hole  in  a drum. 

The  mernbrana  tympani  itself,  likewise,  deserves  all  the 
examination  which  can  be  made  of  it.  It  is  not  found  in 
the  ears  of  fish;  which  furnishes  an  additional  proof  of 
what  indeed  is  indicated  by  everything  about  it,  that  it  is 
appropriated  to  the  action  of  air,  or  of  an  elastic  medium. 
It  bears  an  obvious  resemblance  to  the  pelt  or  head  of  a 
drum,  from  which  it  takes  its  name.  It  resembles  also  a 
drum-head  in  this  principal  property,  that  its  use  depends 
upon  its  tension.  Tension  is  the  state  essential  to  it.  Now 
we  know  that,  in  a drum,  the  pelt  is  carried  over  a hoop, 
and  braced,  as  occasion  requires,  by  the  means  of  strings 
attached  to  its  circumference  In  the  membrane  of  the 
ear,  the  same  purpose  is  provided  for,  more  simply,  but  not 
less  mechanically,  nor  less  successfully,  by  a different  ex- 
pedient, viz.  by  the  end  of  a bone  (the  handle  of  the  mal- 
leus) pressing  upon  its  centre.  It  is  only  in  very  large 
animals  that  the  texture  of  this  membrane  can  be  discern- 
ed In  the  Philosophical  Transactions  for  the  year  1800, 
i^vol  i.)  Sir  Everard  Home  has  given  some  curious  observa 


30 


APPL  CATION  OF  THE  ARGUMENT. 


tions  upon  the  ear,  and  the  drum  of  the  ear  of  an  elephant 
[PI.  V.  fig  4.]  He  discovered  in  it  what  he  calls  a radiated 
muscle,  that  is,  straight  muscular  fibres,  passing  along  the 
membrane  from  the  circumference  to  the  centre;  from  the 
bony  rim  which  surrounds  it  towards  the  handle  of  the 
malleus  to  which  the  central  part  is  attached.  This  mus- 
cle he  supposes  to  be  designed  to  bring  the  membrane  into 
unison  with  different  sounds:  but  then  he  also  discovered,* 
that  this  muscle  itself  cannot  act,  unless  the  membrane  be 
drawn  to  a,  stretch,  and  kept  in  a due  state  of  tightness, 
by  what  mry  be  called  a foreign  force,  viz.  the  action  of 
the  muscles  of  the  malleus.  Our  author,  supposing  his  ex- 
planation of  the  use  of  the  parts  to  be  just,  is  well  founded 
in  the  reflection  which  he  makes  upon  it:  ‘Hhat  this  mode 
of  adapting  the  ear  to  different  sounds,  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  applications  of  muscles  in  the  body;  the  median- 
ism  is  so  simple,  and  the  variety  of  effects  so  great.”  * 

In  another  volume  of  the  transactions  above  referred  to, 
and  of  the  same  year,  two  most  curious  cases  are  related, 
of  persons  who  retained  the  sense  of  hearing,  not  in  a 
perfect,  but  in  a very  considerable  degree,  notwithstanding 
he  almost  total  loss  of  the  membrane  we  have  been  de- 
scribing. In  one  of  these  cases,  the  use  here  assigned  to 

* As  the  ear  of  man  and  fish  has  been  described,  it  may  not  be  im- 
proper in  this  place  to  state,  that  the  other  classes  of  animals  are  no  less 
admirably  provided  with  an  ear,  adapted  to  their  peculiar  habits  and 
economy. 

In  amphibious  animals  the  organ  of  hearing  has  an  intermediate  struc- 
ture; in  some  species  of  this  class,  the  ear  resembling  fish,  in  others  it 
more  resembles  the  formation  of  terrestrial  animals. 

There  is  an  important  addition  to  this  organ  in  birds:  viz.  a cochlea  ar.d 
proper  tympanum. 

In  quadrupeds  we  find  a more  complicated  organization;  to  collect  the 
vibrations  of  sound,  they  have  an  external  ear,  and  all  those  parts,  though 
of  a different  figure,  which  belong  to  the  human  ear. 

The  capacity  for  enjoyment  of  music  is  mental,  but  all  the  cufona 
varieties  of  sound,  which  are  the  source  of  this  enjoyment,  are  communi- 
gated  by  the  mechanical  provisions  of  the  ear.  We  are  astonished  at  the 
varieties  of  sensation;  the  ear  is  capable  of  perceiving  four  or  five  hundred 
Virialions  of  tone  in  sound. 

“ Hence  we  may  conceive  a prodigious  variety  in  the  same  tone, 
arising  from  irregularities  of  it  occasioned  by  constitution,  figure,  situation 
or  manner  of  striking  the  sonorous  body;  from  the  constitution  of  the 
elastic  medium,  or  its  being  disturbed  by  other  motions;  and  from  the 
constitution  of  the  ear  itself,  upon  which  the  impression  is  made.  A 
flute,  a violin,  a hautboy,  a French  horn,  may  all  sound  the  same  tone, 
and  be  easily  distinguishable.  Nay,  if  twenty  human  voices  sound  the 
same  note,  and  with  equal  strength,  there  will  be  some  diflerence. ** 
Reid's  Enquiry,  page  98.  — Paxton. 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS. 


31 


that  inembrane,  of  modifying  the  impressions  of  sound  by 
change  of  tension,  was  attempted  to  be  supplied  by  strain 
ing  the  muscles  of  the  outward  ear.  ‘‘  The  external  ear,’’ 
we  are  told,  had  acquired  a distinct  motion  upward  and 
backward,  which  was  observable  whenever  the  patient 
istened  to  anything  which  he  did  not  distinctly  hear; 
ivhen  he  was  addressed  in  a whisper,  the  ear  was  seen  im- 
mediately to  move;  when  the  tone  of  voice  was  louder, 
it  then  remained  altogether  motionless.” 

It  appears  probable,  from  both  these  cases,  that  a collate- 
ral, if  not  principal,  use  of  the  membrane,  is  to  cover  and 
protect  the  barrel  of  the  ear  which  lies  behind  it.  Both 
the  patients  suffered  from  cold:  one,  a great  increase  of 
deafness  from  catching  cold;”  the  other,  very  considera- 
ble pain  from  exposure  to  a stream  of  cold  air.”  Bad  ef- 
fects therefore  followed  from  this  cavity  being  left  open  to 
the  external  air;  yet,  had  the  Author  of  nature  shut  it  up  by 
any  other  cover,  than  what  was  capable,  by  its  texture,  of 
receiving  vibrations  from  sound,  and,  by  its  connexion 
with  the  interior  parts,  of  transmitting  those  vibrations  to 
the  brain,  the  use  of  the  organ,  so  far  as  we  can  judge, 
must  have  been  entirely  obstructed. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OF  THE  SUCCESSION  OF  PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS. 

The  generation  of  the  animal  no  more  accounts  for  the 
contrivance  of  the  eye  or  ear,  than,  upon  the  supposition 
stated  in  a preceding  chapter,  the  production  of  a watch 
by  the  motion  and  mechanism  of  a former  watch,  would 
account  for  the  skill  and  intention  evidenced  in  the  watch 
so  produced;  than  it  would  account  for  the  disposition  of 
the  wheels,  the  catching  of  their  teeth,  the  relation  of  the 
several  parts  of  the  works  to  one  another,  and  to  their  com- 
mon end;  for  the  suitableness  of  their  forms  and  places  to 
their  offices,  for  their  connexion,  their  operation,  and  the 
useful  result  of  that  operation.  I do  insist  most  strenu- 
ously upon  the  correctness  of  this  comparison;  that  it 
holds  as  to  every  mode  of  specific  propagation;  and  that 
whatever  was  true  of  the  watch,  under  the  hypothesis 
above  mentioned,  is  true  of  plants  and  animals. 

I.  To  begin  with  the  fructificatioii  of  plants.  Can  it  be 
doubted  but  that  the  seed  contains  a particular  organiza- 


32 


OF  THE  SUCCESSION  OF 


tioii?  Whether  a latent  plantule  with  the  means  of  tem- 
porary nutrition,  or  whatever  else  it  be,  it  encloses  an  or 
ganization  suited  to  the  germination  of  a new  plant.  Has 
the  plant  which  produced  the  seed  anything  more  to  (i 
with  that  organization,  than  the  watch  would  have  Iiad  to 
do  with  the  structure  of  the  watch  which  was  produced  in 
the  course  of  its  mechanical  movement  ? I mean.  Has  it  any- 
thing at  all  to  do  with  the  conimvancel  The  maker  and  con- 
triver of  one  watch,  when  he  inserted  within  it  a mechanism 
suited  to  the  production  of  another  watch,  was,  in  truth, 
the  maker  and  contriver  of  that  other  watch.  All  the  prop- 
erties of  the  new  watch  were  to  be  referred  to  his  agency: 
the  design  manifested  in  it,  to  his  intention:  the  art,  to  him 
as  the  artist:  the  collocation  of  each  part  to  his  placing: 
the  action,  effect,  and  use,  to  his  counsel,  intelligence,  and 
workmanship.  In  producing  it  by  the  intervention  of  a 
former  watch,  he  was  only  working  by  one  set  of  tools  in- 
stead of  another.  So  it  is  with  the  plant  and  the  seed 
produced  by  it.  Can  any^ distinction  be  assigned  between 
the  two  cases;  between  the  producing  watch,  and  the  pro- 
ducing plant;  both  passive,  unconscious  substances;  both, 
by  the  organization  which  was  given  to  them,  producing 
tlieir  like,  without  understanding  or  design;  both,  that  is, 
instruments? 

II.  From  plants  we  may  proceed  to  oviparous  animals; 
from  seeds  to  eggs.  Now,  I say,  that  the  bird  has  the  same 
concern  in  the  formation  of  the  egg  which  she  lays,  as  the 
plant  has  in  that  of  the  seed  which  it  drops;  and  no 
other,  nor  greater.  The  internal  constitution  of  the  egg 
is  as  much  a secret  to  the  hen,  as  if  the  hen  were  inan 
imate.  Her  will  cannot  alter  it,  or  change  a single  feather 
of  the  chick.  She  can  neither  foresee  nor  determine  o. 
which  sex  her  brood  shall  be,  or  how  many  of  either;  yet 
the  thing  produced  shall  be,  from  the  first,  very  different 
in  its  make,  according  to  the  sex  which  it  bears.  So  far, 
therefore,  from  adapting  the  means,  she  is  not  beforehand 
apprized  of  the  effect.  If  there  be  concealed  within  that 
smooth  shell  a provision  and  a preparation  for  the  produc- 
tion and  nourishment  of  a new  animal,  they  are  not  of  her 
providing  or  preparing:  if  there  be  contrivance,  it  is  none 
of  hers.  Although,  therefore,  there  be  the  difference  of 
life  and  perceptivity  between  the  animal  and  the  plant,  it  is 
a difference  which  enters  not  into  the  account.  It  is  a for- 
eign circumstance.  It  is  a difference  of  properties  not 
cm])loyed.  The  animal  function  and  the  vegetable  func 
tion  are  alike  destitute  of  any  design  which  can  operate  upon 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS. 


33 


.he  form  of  the  thing  produced.  The  plant  has  no  de- 
sign in  producing  the  seed,  no  comprehension  of  the  na- 
ture or  use  of  what  it  produces;  the  bird  with  respect  to  its 
egg,  is  not  above  the  plant  with  respect  to  its  seed.  Neith- 
er the  one  nor  the  other  bears  that  sort  of  relation  to  what 
proceeds  from  them,  which  a joiner  does  to  the  chair  which 
he  makes.  Now  a cause,  which  hears  this  relation  to  the 
effect,  is  what  we  want,  in  order  to  account  for  the  suita- 
bleness of  means  to  an  end,  the  fitness  and  fitting  of  one 
thing  to  another,  and  this  cause  the  parent  plant  or  ani- 
mal does  not  supply. 

It  is  farther  observable  concerning  the  propagation  of 
plants  and  animals,  that  the  apparatus  employed  exhibits 
no  resemblance  to  the  thing  produced;  in  this  respect 
holding  an  analogy  with  instruments  and  tools  of  art.  The 
filaments,  antheras,  and  stigmata  of  flowers,  bear  no  more 
resemblance  to  the  young  plant,  or  even  to  the  seed,  which 
is  formed  by  their  intervention,  than  a chisel  or  a plane 
does  to  a table  or  chair.  What  then  are  the  filaments, 
antherae,  and  stigmata  of  plants,  but  instruments  strictly 
so  called.^ * 

III.  We  may  advance  from  animals  which  bring  forth 
eggs,  to  animals  which  bring  forth  their  young  alive:  and 
of  this  latter  class,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest;  from 
irrational  to  rational  life,  from  brutes  to  the  human  species; 

* Nearly  akin  to  the  reproduction  of  plants  and  animals  by  generation, 
is  the  reproduction  of  parts  of  animal  bodies  which  have  been  destroyed, 
and  the  reparation  of  those  which  have  been  injured.  To  say  nothing  of 
the  reproduction  of  limbs  in  crustaceous  animals,  the  wonderful  but  well 
attested  fact,  of  the  formation  of  a new  eye  in  an  animal  of  the  lizard  kind, 
in  the  place  of  one  which  had  been  cut  out  of  the  socket,  is  one  which  no 
atheistical  theory  can  approach,  in  the  way  of  explanation.  In  the  pro- 
cess by  which  a new  eye  is  formed,  the  apparatus,  instruments  and 
materials,  employed,  bear  no  resemblance  to  the  organ  to  be  farmed.  The 
small  capillary  vessels  of  the  root  of  the  eye,  construct  a new  eye,  out  of 
the  blood  which  circulates  in  them.  To  use  a mode  of  expression  like 
that  of  our  author — the  vessels  which  thus  construct  a new  eye,  bear  no 
more  resemblance  to  it,  than  a chisel  or  a plane,  to  a table  or  a chair;  and 
ll:e  blood  out  of  which  it  is  made,  no  more  resemblance  to  it  when  made, 
than  the  metallic  ores  when  taken  out  of  the  mine,  to  a complete  and 
perfectly  constructed  watch.  In  this  case,  we  find  a contrivance  exist- 
ing in  a whole  race  of  animals,  for  the  accomplishment  of  a purpose 
which  it  is  not  called  upon  to  accomplish  in  one  instance  out  of  a thousand. 
If  the  reader  will  examine  the  several-atheistical  modes  of  evading  the  force 
of  the  argurrents  for  the  existence  of  God,  referred  to  in  the  next 
chapter,  as  w 3II  as  in  various  other  parts  of  this  volume,  he  will  fina  that 
they  signally  fail  in  their  application  to  this  case. — JEd, 


34 


PLANTS  AND  ANIMALS. 


without  perceiving,  as  we  proceed,  any  alteiatioii  A'natever 
in  the  terms  of  the  comparison.  The  rational  animal  does 
not  produce  its  offspring  with  more  certainty  or  success 
.han  the  irrational  animal;  a man  than  a quadruped,  a 
quadruped  than  a bird;  nor  (for  we  may  follow  the  grada- 
tion through  its  whole  scale)  a bird  than  a plant;  nor  a 
plant  than  a watch,  a piece  of  dead  mechanism,  would  do, 
upon  the  supposition  wdiich  has  already  so  often  been  re- 
peated. Rationality  therefore  has  nothing  to  do  in  the 
business.  If  an  account  must  be  given  of  the  contrivance 
which  we  observe;  if  it  be  demanded,  whence  arose  either 
the  contrivance  by  which  the  young  animal  is  produced, 
or  the  contrivance  manifested  in  the  young  animal  itself,  it 
is  not  from  the  reason  of  the  parent  that  any  such  account 
can  be  drawn.  He  is  the  cause  of  his  offspring  in  the  same 
sense  as  that  in  which  a gardener  is  the  cause  of  the  tulip 
which  grows  upon  his  parterre,  and  in  no  other.  We  ad- 
mire the  flower;  we  examine  the  plant;  we  perceive  the 
conduciveness  of  many  of  its  parts  to  their  end  and  office; 
we  observe  a provision  for  its  nourishment,  growth,  pro- 
tection, and  fecundity;  but  we  never  think  of  the  gardener 
in  all  this.  We  attribute  nothing  of  this  to  his  agency; 
yet  it  may  still  be  true,  that  without  the  gardener  w#^ 
should  not  have  had  the  tulip:  just  so  it  is  with  the  suc- 
cession of  animals  even  of  the  highest  order.  For  the 
contrivance  discovered  in  the  structure  of  the  thing  pro- 
duced, we  want  a contriver.  The  parent  is  not  that  contri- 
ver. His  consciousness  decides  that  question.  He  is  in  total 
ignorance  why  that  which  is  produced  took  its  present  form 
rather  than  any  other.  It  is  for  him  only  to  be  astonished 
by  the  effect.  We  can  no  more  look  therefore  to  the  intel- 
ligence of  the  parent  animal  for  what  w^e  are  in  search  of, 
a cause  of  relation,  and  of  subserviency  of  parts  to  their  use, 
which  relation  and  subserviency  we  see  in  the  procreated 
body,  than  we  can  refer  the  internal  conformation  of  an 
acorn  to  the  intelligence  of  the  oak  from  which  it  dropped, 
or  the  structure  of  the  watch  to  the  intelligence  of  the 
watch  which  produced  it;  there  being  no  diflerence,  as  far 
as  argument  is  concerned,  between  an  intelligence  wliich 
i«  not  exerted,  and  a intelligence  which  does  not  exist. 


APPLICATION  &r: 


35 


CHAPTER  V. 

application  of  the  ARGUMENl  CONTINUED. 

Every  observation  which  was  made  in  oiir  first  diop- 
ter, concerning  the  watch,  may  be  repeated  with  strict  pro- 
priety concerning  the  eye;  concerning  animals;  ccncern- 
ing  plants;  concerning,  indeed,  all  the  organized  parts  of 
the  works  of  nature.  As, 

I.  When  we  are  inquiring  simply  afler  the  existence  of 
an  intelligent  Creator,  imperfection,  inaccuracy,  liability 
to  disorder,  occasional  irregularities,  may  subsist  in  a con- 
siderable degree,  without  inducing  any  doubt  into  the 
question:  just  <as  a watch  may  frequently  go  wrong,  seldom 
perhaps  exactly  right,  may  be  faulty  in  some  parts,  defec- 
tive in  some,  without  the  smallest  ground  of  suspicion  from 
thence  arising  that  it  was  not  a watch ; not  made ; or  not 
made  for  the  purpose  ascribed  to  it.  When  faults  are 
pointed  out,  and  when  a question  is  started  concerning  the 
skill  of  the  artist,  or  the  dexterity  with  which  the  work  is 
executed,  then,  indeed,  in  order  to  defend  these  qualities 
from  accusation,  we  must  be  able,  either  to  expose  some 
intractableness  and  imperfection  in  the  materials,  or  point 
out  some  invincible  difficulty  in  the  execution,  into  which 
imperfection  and  difficulty  the  matter  of  complaint  may  be 
resolved;  or  if  we  cannot  do  this,  we  must  adduce  such 
specimens  of  consummate  art  and  contrivance,  proceeding 
from  the  same  hand,  as  may  convince  the  inquirer  of  the 
existence,  in  the  case  before  him,  of  impediments  like  those 
which  we  have  mentioned,  although,  what  from  the  nature 
of  the  case  is  very  likely  to  happen,  they  be  unknown  and 
unperceived  by  him.  This  we  must  do  in  order  to  vindi- 
cate the  artist’s  skill,  or,  at  least,  the  perfection  of  it;  as 
we  must  also  judge  of  his  intention,  and  of  the  provision 
employed  in  fulfilling  that  intention,  hot  from  an  instance 
in  which  they  fail,  but  from  the  great  plurality  of  instances 
in  which  they  succeed.  But,  after  all,  these  are  different 
questions  from  the  question  of  the  artist’s  existence;  or, 
wffiich  is  the  same,  whether  the  thing  before  us  be  a work  of 
art  or  not:  and  the  question  ought  always  to  be  kept  sepa- 
rate in  the  mind.  So  likewise  it  is  in  the  works  of  nature. 
Irregularities  and  imperfections  are  of  little  or  no  ^veight 
in  the  consideration,  when  that  consideration  relates  sim- 
ply to  the  existence  of  a Creator.  When  the  argument  re- 


36 


APFLICATION  OF  THE 


spects  his  attributes,  they  are  of  weight;  but  are  then  to 
be  taken  in  conjunction  (the  attention  is  not  to  rest  upon 
them,  but  they  are  to  be  taken  in  conjunction)  with  the 
unexceptionable  evidences  which  we  possess,  of  skill, 
power,  and  benevolence,  displayed  in  other  instances; 
which  evidences  may,  in  strength,  number,  and  variety,  be 
such,  and  may  so  overpower  apparent  blemishes,  as  to  in- 
duce us,  upon  the  most  reasonable  ground,  to  believe,  tliat 
these  last  ought  to  be  referred  to  some  cause,  though  we 
be  ignorant  of  it,  other  than  defect  of  knowledge  or  of  be- 
nevolence in  the  author. 

II.  There  may  be  also  parts  of  plants  and  animals,  as 
there  were  supposed  to  be  of  the  watch,  of  which,  in  some 
instances,  the  operation,  in  others,  the  use,  is  unknown. 
These  form  different  causes;  for  the  operation  may  be  un- 
known, yet  the  use  be  certain.  Thus  it  is  with  the  lungs  of 
animals.  It  does  not,  I think,  appear,  that  we  are  acquainted 
with  the  action  of  the  air  upon  the  blood,  or  in  what  man- 
ner that  action  is  communicated  by  the  lungs;  yet  we  find 
that  a very  short  suspension  of  their  office  destroys  the 
life  of  the  animal.  In  this  case,  therefore,  we  maybe  said 
to  know  the  use,  nay  we  experience  the  necessity,  of  the 
organ,  though  we  be  ignorant  of  its  operation.  Nearly  the 
same  thing  may  be  observed  of  what  is  called  the  lympha- 
tic system.  We  suffer  grievous  inconveniences  from  its  dis- 
order, without  being  informed  of  the  office  which  it  sus- 
tains in  the  economy  of  our  bodies.  There  may  possibly 
also  be  some  few  examples  of  the  second  class,  in  which 
not  only  the  operation  is  unknown,  but  in  which  experi- 
ments may  seem  to  prove  that  the  part  is  not  necessary; 
or  may  leave  a doubt,  how  far  it  is  even  useful  to  the  plant 
or  animal  in  which  it  is  found.  This  is  said  to  be  the  case 
with  the  spleen;  which  has  been  extracted  from  dogs,  with- 
out any  sensible  injury  to  their  vital  function.  Instances 
o’f  *he  former  kind,  namely,  in  which  we  cannot  explain 
the  operation,  may  be  numerous;  for  they  will  be  so  in 
proportion  to  our  ignorance.-  They  will  be  more  or  fewer 
to  different  persons,  and  in  different  stages  of  science. 
Every  improvement  of  knowledge  diminishes  their  number. 
There  is  hardly,  perhaps,  a year  passes  that  does  not,  in 
the  works  of  nature,  bring  some  operation,  or  some  mode 
of  operation,  to  light,  which  was  before  undiscovered, — pro- 
bably unsuspected.  Instances  of  the  second  kind,  namely, 
• where  the  part  appears  to  be  totally  useless,  I believe  to  be 
extremely  rare;  compared  with  the  number  of  tliose  of 
V Inch  the  use  is  evident,  they  are  beneath  any  assignable 


ARGUMENT  CONTINUED 


37 


proportion;  and,  perhaps,  have  never  be.n  submitted  to  a 
trial  and  examination  sufliciently  accurate,  long  enough 
continued,  or  often  enough  repeated.  No  accounts  which 
I have  seen  are  satisfactory.  The  mutilated  animal  may 
live  and  grow  fat,  (as  was  the  case  of  the  dog  deprived  of 
its  spleen,)  yet  may  be  defective  in  some  other  of  its  func- 
tions; which,  whether  they  can  all,  or  in  what  degree  of 
vigor  and  perfection,  be  performed,  or  how  ong  preserv- 
ed, without  the  extirpated  organ,  does  not  seem  to  be  as- 
certained by  experiment.  But  to  this  case,  even  were  it 
fully  made  out,  may  be  applied  the  consideration  which  we 
suggested  concerning  the  watch,  viz.  that  these  superfluous 
parts  do  not  negative  the  reasoning  which  we  instituted 
concerning  those  parts  which  are  useful,  and  ot' which  we 
know  the  use.  The  indication  of  contrivance,  with  re- 
spect to  them,  remains  as  it  was  before. 

III.  One  atheistic  way  of  replying  to  our  observations 
upon  the  works  of  nature,  and  to  the  proofs  of  a Deity 
which  we  think  that  we  perceive  in  them,  is  to  tell  us,  that 
all  which  we  see  must  n Bcessarily  have  had  some  form,  and 
that  it  might  as  well  be  its  present  form  as  any  other.  Let 
us  now  apply  this  answer  to  the  eye,  as  we  did  before  to 
the  watch.  Something  or  other  must  have  occupied  that 
place  in  the  animal's  head;  must  have  filled  up,  we  will 
say,  that  socket:  we  will  say  also,  that  it  must  have  been 
of  that  sort  of  substance  which  we  call  animal  substance, 
as  flesh,  bone,  membrane,  cartilage,  &c.  But  that  it  should 
have  been  an  eye,  knowing  as  we  do,  what  an  eye  com- 
prehends,— viz.  that  it  should  have  consisted,  first,  of  a se- 
ries of  transparent  lenses  (very  different,  by  the  by,  even  in 
their  substan«e,Ti’om  the  opaque  materials  of  which  the  rest 
of  the  body  is,  in  general  at  least,  composed;  and  with- 
which  the  whole  of  its  surface,  this  single  portion  of  it  ex- 
cepted, is  covered:)  secondly,  of  a black  cloth  or  canvass 
(the  only  membrane  of  the  body  which  is  black)  spread 
lit  behind  these  lenses,  so  as  to  r.eceive  the  image  forn:;ed 
y pencils  of  light  transmitted  through  them;  and  placed 
at  the  precise  geometrical  distance  at  which,  and  at  which 
alone,  a distinct  image  could  be  formed,  namely,  at  the 
concourse  of  the  refracted  rays:  thirdly,  of  a large  nerve 
communicating  between  this  membrane  and  the  brain; 
without  which,  the  action  of  light  upon  the  membrane, 
however  modified  by  the  organ,  would  be  lost  to  the  pur- 
poses of  sensation: — that  this  fortunate  conformation  of 
parts  should  have  been  the  lot,  not  of  one  'ndividual  out 
of  many  thousand  individuals,  like  the  great  [rize  in  a lot- 


58 


APPLICATION  OF  THE 


teiy,  or  like  some  singularity  in  nature,  but  the  happy 
chance  of  a whole  species;  nor  of  one  species  out  of  many 
thousand  species,  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  but  of 
by  far  the  greatest  number  of  all  that  exist;  and  that  under 
varieties,  not  casual  or  capricious,  but  bearing  marks 
of  being  suited  to  their  respective  exigencies: — that  all 
this  should  have  taken  place,  merely  because  something 
must  have  occupied  those  points  in  every  animal’s  fore- 
head,— or,  that  all  this  should  be  thought  to  be  accounted 
for,  by  the  short  answer,  that  whatever  was  there,  must 
have  had  some  form  or  other,”  is  too  absurd  to  be  made 
more  so  by  any  augmentation.  We  are  not  contented 
with  this  answer;  we  find  no  satisfaction  in  it,  by  way  of 
accounting  for  appearances  of  organization  far  short  of 
those  of  the  eye,  such  as  we  observe  in  fossil  shells,  petri- 
fied bones,  or  other  substances  which  bear  the  vestiges  of 
animal  or  vegetable  recrements,  but  which,  either  in  re- 
spect of  utility,  or  of  the  situation  in  which  they  are  dis- 
covered, may  seem  accidental  enough.  It  is  no  way  of 
accounting  even  for  these  things,  to  say  that  the  stone,  for 
instance,  which  is  shown  to  us,  (supposing  the  question  to 
be  concerning  a petrification,)  must  have  contained  some 
internal  conformation  or  other.  Nor  does  it  mend  the  an- 
swer to  add,  with  respect  to  the  singularity  of  the  confor- 
mation, that,  after  the  event,  it  is  uo  longer  to  be  comput- 
ed what  the  chances  were  against  it.  This  is  always  to  be 
computed,  when  the  question  is,  whether  a useful  or  imi- 
tative conformation  be  the  produce  of  chance,  or  not:  I de- 
sire no  greater  certainty  in  reasoning,  than  that  by  which 
chance  is  excluded  from  the  present  disposition  of  the  nat- 
ural world.  Universal  experience  is  against  it.  What 
does  chance  ever  do  for  us?  In  the  human  body,  for  in- 
stance, chance,  i.  e.  the  operation  of  causes  without  design, 
may  produce  a wen,  a wart,  a mole,  a pimple,  but  never  an 
eye.  Amongst  inanimate  substances,  a clod,  a pebble,  a 
liquid  drop  might  be;  but  never  was  a watch,  a telescope, 
an  organized  body  of  any  kind,  answering  a valuable  pur- 
pose by  a complicated  mechanism,  the  effect  of  chance 
In  no  assignable  instance  hath  such  a thing  existed  without 
intention  somewhere. 

IV.  There  is  another  answer,  which  has  the  same  ef- 
fect as  the  resolving  of  things  into  chance;  which  answer 
would  persuade  us  to  believe,  that  the  eye,  the  animal  to 
which  it  belongs,  every  other  animal,  every  plant,  indeed 
every  organized  body  which  we  see,  are  only  so  many  out 
of  nossiblo  varieties  and  combinations  of  being,  which 


ARGUMENT  CONiiNUED. 


39 


the  lapse  of  infinite  ages  has  brought  into  existence;  that 
the  present  world  is  the  relic  of  that  variety;  millions  of 
other  bodily  forms  and  otlier  species  having  perished,  be- 
ing by  the  defect  of  their  constitutions  incapable  of  preser- 
va.mn,  or  of  continuance  by  generation.  Now  there  is  no 
foundation  whatever  for  this  conjecture  in  anything  which 
we  observe  in  the  works  of  nature;  no  such  experiments 
are  going  on  at  present;  no  such  energy  operates,  as  that 
which  is  here  supposed,  and  which  should  be  constantly 
pushing  into  existence  new  varieties  of  beings:  Nor  are 
there  any  appearances  to  support  an  opinion,  that  every 
possible  combination  of  vegetable  or  animal  structure  has 
formerly  been  tried.  Multitudes  of  conformations,  both  of 
vegetables  and  animals,  may  be  conceived  capable  of  exist- 
ence and  succession,  which  yet  do  not  exist.  Perhaps 
almost  as  many  forms  of  plants  might  have  been  found  in 
the  fields,  as  figures  of  plants  can  be  delineated  upon  paper. 
A countless  variety  of  animals  might  have  existed,  which 
do  not  exist.  Upon  the  supposition  here  stated,, we  should 
see  unicorns  and  mermaids,  sylphs  and  centaurs,  the  fan- 
cies of  painters,  and  the  fables  of  poets,  realized  by  exam- 
ples. Or,  if  it  be  alleged  that  these  may  transgress  the 
limits  of  possible  life  and  propagation,  we  might,  at  least, 
have  nations  of  human  beings  without  nails  upon  their  fin- 
gers, with  more  or  fewer  fingers  and  toes  than  ten;  some 
with  one  eye,  others  with  one  ear,  with  one  nostril,  or  with- 
out the  sense  of  smelling  at  all.  All  these,  and  a thousand 
other  imaginable  varieties,  might  live  and  propagate.  We 
may  modity  any  one  species  many  different  ways,  all  con- 
sistent with  life,  and  with  the  actions  necessary  to  preserva- 
tion, although  affording  different  degrees  of  conveniency 
and  enjoyment  to  the  animal.  And  if  we  carry  these  mod- 
ifications through  the  different  species  which  are  known  to 
subsist,  their  number  would  be  incalculable.  No  reason 
can  be  given  why,  if  these  deperdits  ever  existed,  they 
have  now  disappeared.  Yet,  if  ail  possible  existences  have 
been  tried,  they  must  have  formed  part  of  the  catalogue. 

But,  moreover,  the  division  of  organized  substances  into 
animals  and  vegetables,  and  the  distribution  and  sub-distri- 
butien  of  each  into  genera  and  species,  which  distribution 
is  not  an  arbitrary  act  of  the  mind,  but  founded  in  the 
order  which  prevails  in  external  nature,  appear  to  me  to 
contiadict  the  supposition  of  the  present  world  being  the 
remains  of  an  indefinite  variety  of  existences;  of  a variety 
which  rejects  all  plan.  The  hypothesis  teaches,  that  every 


40 


APPLICATION  OF  THE 


possible  'variety  of  being  hath,  at  one  time  or  other,  found 
its  wav  into  existence,  (by  what  cause  or  in  what  manner  is 
not  said,)  and  that  those  which  were  badly  formed,  perish- 
ed; but  how  or  why  those  which  survived  should  be  cast, 
as  we  see  that  plants  and  animals  are  cast,  into  regular 
classes,  the  hypothesis  does  not  explain;  or  rather,  the  hy- 
pothesis is  inconsistent  with  this  phenomenon. 

The  hypothesis,  indeed,  is  hardly  deserving  of  the  con  - 
sideration which  we  have  given  to  it.  What  should  we 
think  of  a man  who,  because  we  had  never  ourselves  seen 
watches,  telescopes,  stocking  mills,  steam  engines,  &c. 
made,  knew  not  how  they  were  made,  or  could  prove 
by  testimony  when  they  were  made,  or  by  whom,— 
would  have  us  believe  that  these  machines,  instead  of  de- 
riving their  curious  structures  from  the  thought  and  design 
of  their  inventors  and  contrivers,  in  truth  derive  them  from 
no  other  origin  than  this,  viz.  that  a mass  of  metals  and  oth- 
er materials  having  run  when  melted  into  all  possible  fig- 
ures, and  combined  themselves  in  all  possible  forms  and 
shapes,  and  proportions,  these  things  which  we  see,  are 
what  were  left  from  the  accident,  as  best  worth  preserving; 
and,  as  such,  are  become  the  remaining  stock  of  a maga- 
zine, which,  at  one  time  or  other,  has,  by  this  means,  con- 
tained every  mechanism,  useful  and  useless,  convenient 
and  inconvenient,  into  which  such  like,  materials  could  bo 
thrown?  I cannot  distinguish  the  hypothesis  as  applied 
to  the  works  of  nature,  from  this  solution,  which  no  one 
would  accept,  as  applied  to  a collection  of  machines. 

V.  To  the  marks  of  contrivance  discoverable  in  animal 
bodies,  and  to  the  argument  deduced  from  them,  in  proof  of 
design,  and  of  a designing  Creator,  this  turn  is  sometimes 
attempted  to  be  given,  viz.  that  the  parts  were  not  intended 
for  the  use,  but  that  the  use  arose  out  of  the  parts.  This 
distinction  is  intelligible.  A cabinet  maker  rubs  his  ma- 
hogany with  fish  skin;  yet  it  would  be  too  much  to  assert 
that  the  skin  of  the  dogfish  was  made  rough  and  granulated 
on  purpose  for  the  polishing  of  wood,  and  the  use  of  cabinet- 
makers. Therefore  the  distinction  is  intelligible.  But  I 
think  that  there  is  very  little  place  for  it  in  the  works  of 
nature.  When  roundly  and  generally  affirmed  of  them,  as 
it  hath  sometimes  been,  it  amounts  to  such  another  stretch 
of  assertion,  as  it  would  be  to  say,  that  all  the  implements 
of  the  cabinet-maker’s  workshop,  as  well  as  the  fish  skin, 
were  substances  accidentally  configurated,  which  he  had 
picked  up,  and  converted  to  his  use;  that  liis  adzes,  saws, 
places  and  gimlets,  were  not  mad 3,  as  wc  suppose,  to  hew 


ARGUMENT  CONTINUED. 


41 


CUV,  smooth,  shape  out,  or  bore  wood  with;  but  that,  these 
things  being  made,  no  matter  with  what  design,  or  whether 
with  any,  the  cabinet-maker  perceiveo  that  they  were  ap- 
plicable to  his  purpose,  and  turned  them  to  account. 

But,  again.  So  far  as  this  solution  is  attempted  to  be  ap- 
plied to  those  parts  of  animals,  the  action  of  which  does 
not  depend  upon  the  will  of  the  animal,  it  is  fraught  with 
still  more  evident  absurdity.  Is  it  possible  to  believe  that 
the  eye  was  formed  without  any  regard  to  vision;  that  it 
was  the  animal  itself  which  found  out,  that,  though  formed 
with  no  such  intention,  it  would  serve  to  see  with;  and 
that  the  use  of  the  eye,  as  an  organ  of  sight,  resulted  from 
this  discovery,  and  the  animal’s  application  ofit.^  The  same 
question  may  be  asked  of  the  ear;  the  same  of  all  the 
senses.  None  of  the  senses  fundamentally  depend  iipo’^ 
the  election  of  the  animal;  consequently,  neither  upon  his 
sagacity,  nor  his  experience.  It  is  the  impression  which 
objects  make  upon  them,  that  constitutes  their  use.  Under 
that  impression,  he  is  passive.  He  may  bring  objects  to  the 
sense,  or  within  its  reach;  he  may  select  these  objects:  but 
over  the  impression  itself  he  has  no  power,  or  very  little ; 
and  that  properly  is  the  sense. 

Secondly,  There  are  many  parts  of  animal  bodies  which 
seem  to  depend  upon  the  will  of  the  animal  in  a greater 
degree  than  the  senses  do,  and  yet,  with  respect  to  which, 
this  solution  is  equally  unsatisfactory.  If  we  apply  the  so- 
lution to  the  human  body,  for  instance,  it  forms  itself  into 
questions,  upon  which  no  reasonable  mind  can  doubt;  such 
as,  whether  the  teeth  were  made  expressly  for  the  mastica- 
tion of  food,  the  feet  for .. walking,  the  hands  for  holding; 
or  whether,  these  things  being  as  they  are,  being  in  fact 
in  the  animal’s  possession,  his  own  ingenuity  taught  him 
that  they  were  convertible  to  these  purposes,  though  no 
such  purposes  were  contemplated  in  their  formation. 

All  that  there  is  of  the  appearance  of  reason  in  this 
way  of  considering  the  subject  is,  that,  in  some  cases, 
the  organization  seems  to  determine  the  habits  of  the  ani- 
mal, and  its  choice,  to  a particular  mode  of  life;  which; 
in  a certain  sense,  may  be  called  ‘‘the  use  arising  out  of 
he  part.”  Now  to  all  the  instances,  in  which  there  is  any 
place  for  this  suggestion,  it  may  be  replied,  that  the  organ- 
ization determines  the  animal  to  habits  beneficial  and  salu- 
tary to  itself;  and  that  this  effect  would  not  be  seen  so 
regularly  to  follow,  if  the  several  organizations  did  not 
bear  a concerted  and  contrived  relation  to  the  substance 
by  which  the  animal  was  surrounded.  They  would,  others 


42 


APPLICATION  OF  THE 


wise,  be  capacities  without  objects;  powers  without  em- 
ployment. The  web  foot  determines,  you  say,  the  duck 
to  swim:  but  what  would  that  avail,  if  there  were  no  water 
to  swim  in?  The  strong  hooked  bill,  and  sharp  talons, 
of  one  species  of  bird,  determine  it  to  prey  upon  animals, 
the  soft  straight  mil,  and  weak  claws,  of  another  species, 
determine  it  to  pick  up  seeds:  but  neither  determination 
could  take  effect  in  providing  for  the  sustenance  of  the 
birds,  if  animal  bodies  and  vegetable  seeds  did  not  lie  with- 
in their  reach.  The  peculiar  conformation  of  the  bill,  and 
tongue,  and  claws  of  the  woodpecker,  [PI.  XXVII.  fig.  1, 
2,  3]  determines  that  bird  to  search  for  his  food  amongst 
the  insects  lodged  behind  the  bark,  or  in  the  wood,  of  de- 
cayed trees:  but  what  would  this  profit  him,  if  there  were 
no  trees,  no  decayed  trees,  no  insects  lodged  under  their 
bark,  or  in  their  trunk?  The  proboscis  with  which  the 
bee  is  furnished,  determines  him  to  seek  for  honey:  but 
what  would  that  signify,  if  flowers  supplied  none?  Facul- 
ties thrown  down  upon  animals  at  random,  and  without 
reference  to  the  objects  amidst  which  they  are  placed, 
would  not  produce  to  them  the  services  and  benefits  which 
we  see;  and  if  there  be  that  reference,  then  there  is  in- 
tention. 

Lastly,  the  solution  fails  entirely  when  applied  to  plants. 
The  parts  of  plants  answer  their  uses,  without  any  concur- 
rence from  tho^^ll  or  choice  of  the  plant. 

VI.  Others  have  chosen  to  refer  everything  to  a princi^ 
pie  of  order  in  nature.  A principle  of  order  is  the  word: 
but  what  is  meant  by  a principle  of  order,  as  different 
from  an  intelligent  Creator,  has  not  been  explained  either 
by  definition  or  example;  and,  without  such  explanation, 
it  should  seem  to  be  a mere  substitution  of  words  for  rea- 
sons, names  for  causes.  Order  itself  is  only  the  adaptation 
of  means  to  an  end:  a principle  of  order,  therefore,  car. 
only  signify  the  mind  and  intention  which  so  adapts  them. 
Or,  were  it  capable  of  being  explained  in  any  other  sense, 
is  there  any  experience,  any  analogy  to  sustain  it?  Was 
a watch  ever  produced  by  a principle  of  order  ? and  why 
might  not  a watch  be  so  produced  as  well  as  an  eye  ? 

Furthermore,  a principle  of  order,  acting  blindly  and 
without  choice,  is  negatived  by  the  observation,  that  order 
is  not  universal;  which  it  would  be,  if  it  issued  from  a con- 
stant and  necessary  principle;  nor  indiscriminate,  which  it 
would  be,  if  it  issued  from  an  unintelligent  principle.  Where 
ordei  is  wanted,  there  we  find  it;  where  order  is  not  want- 
ed, i e.  when*  if  it  prevailed,  it  would  be  useless,  there  we 


ARGUMENT  CONTINUED. 


43 


do  not  find  it.  In  the  structure  ofthe  eye,  (fc  r we  adhere  to 
our  example,)  in  the  figure  and  position  of  itw  several  parts, 
the  most  exact  order  is  maintained.  In  the  forms  of  rocks 
and  mountains,  in  the  lines  which  bound  the  coasts  of  con- 
‘nents  and  islands,  in  the  shape  of  bays  and  promontories, 
no  order  whatever  is  perceived,  because  it  would  have  been 
superfluous.  No  useful  purpose  would  have  arisen  from 
moulding  rocks  and  mountains  into  regular  solids,  bounds 
ing  the  channel  of  the  ocean  by  geometrical  curves,  oi 
from  the  map  of  the  world  resembling  a table  of  diagrams 
in  Euclid’s  Elements,  or  Simpson’s  Conic  Sections. 

VII.  Lastly,  the  confidence  which  we  place  in  our  ob- 
servations upon  the  works  of  nature,  in  the  marks  which 
we  discover  of  contrivance,  choice,  and  design,  and  in  our 
reasoning  upon  the  proofs  afforded  us,  ought  not  to  be 
shaken,  as  it  is  sometimes  attempted  to  be  done,  by  bring- 
ing forward  to  our  view  our  own  ignorance,  or  rather  the 
general  imperfection  of  our  knowledge  of  nature.  Nor, 
in  many  cases,  ought  this  consideration  to  affect  us,  even 
when  it  respects  some  parts  of  the  subject  immediately 
under  our  notice.  True  fortitude  of  understanding  consists 
in  not  suffering  what  we  know  to  be  disturbed  by  what  we 
do  not  know.  If  we  perceive  a useful  end,  and  means 
adapted  to  that  end,  we  perceive  enough  for  our  conclusion, 
If  these  things  be  clear,  no  matter  what  is  obscure.  The 
argument  is  finished.  For  instance;  if  the  utility  of  vision 
to  the  animal  which  enjoys  it,  and  the  adaptation  of  the  eye 
to  this  office,  be  evident  and  certain,  (and  I can  mention 
nothing  which  is  more  so,)  ought  it  to  prejudice  the  infer- 
ence which  we  draw  from  these  premises,  that  we  cannot 
expla’n  the  use  of  the  spleen } Nay,  more ; if  there  be  parts 
ofthe  eye,  viz.  the  cornea,  the  crystalline,  the  retina,  in 
their  substance,  figure,  and  position,  manifestly  suited  to 
the  formation  of  an  image  by  the  refraction  of  rays  of  light, 
at  least,  as  manifestly  as  the  glasses  and  tubes  of  a dioptric 
telescope  are  suited  to  that  purpose;  it  concerns  not  the 
proof  which  these  afford  of  design,  and  of  a designer,  tha 
there  may  perhaps  be  other  parts,  certain  muscles,  for  in- 
stance, or  nerves  in  the  same  eye,  of  the  agency  or  effect 
of  which  we  can  give  no  account;  any  more  than  we 
should  be  inclined  to  doubt,  or  ought  to  doubt,  about  ^he 
construction  of  a telescope,  viz.  for  what  purpose  it  was 
constructed,  or  whether  it  were  constructed  at  all,  because 
there  belonged  to  it  certain  screws  and  pins,  the  use  or 
action  cf  which  we  did  not  comprehend.  I take  it  to  be  a 
general  way  f f infusing  doubts  and  scruples  into  the  mind 


44 


THE  ARGUMENT  CUMULATIVE. 


to  recur  tc  its  own  ignorance,  its  own  imbecility:  to  tell 
us  that  upon  these  subjects  we  know  little;  that  little  im* 
perfectly;  or  rather,  that  we  know  nothing  properly  about 
the  matter.  These  suggestions  so  fall  in  with  our  con- 
sciousnesses, as  sometimes  to  produce  a general  distrust  of 
aur  faculties  and  our  conclusions.  But  this  is  an  unfound- 
ed jealousy.  The  uncertainty  of  one  thing,  does  not  ne- 
cessarily affect  the  certainty  of  another  thing.  Our  ig- 
norance of  many  points  need  not  suspend  our  assurance  of 
a few.  Before  we  yield,  in  any  particular  instance,  to  the 
skepdeism  which  this  sort  of  insinuation  would  induce,  we 
ought  accurately  to  ascertain,  whether  our  ignorance  or 
doubt  concern  those  precise  points  upon  which  our  conclu- 
sion lests.  Other  points  are  nothing.  Our  ignorance  of 
other  points  may  be  of  no  consequence  to  these,  though 
they  be  points,  in  various  respects,  of  great  importance. 
A just  reasoner  removes  from  his  consideration,  npt  only 
what  he  knows,  but  what  he  does  not  know,  touching  mat- 
ters not  strictly  connected  with  his  argument,  i.  e.  not 
forming  the  very  steps  of  his  deduction;  beyond  these, 
his  knowledge  and  his  ignorance  are  alike  relative. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  ARGUME'NT  CUMULATIVE. 

Were  there  no  example  in  the  world  of  contrivance  eX' 
cept  that  of  the  eye^  it  would  be  alone  sufficient  to  support 
the  conclusion  which  we  draw  from  it,  as  to  the  necessity 
of  an  intelligent  Creator.  It  could  never  be  got  rid  of ; 
because  it  could  not  be  accounted  for  by  any  other  suppo- 
sition, which  did  not  contradict  all  the  principles  we  pos- 
sess of  knowledge:  the  principles,  according  to  which  things 
do,  as  often  as  they  can  be  brought  to  the  test  of  experi- 
ence, turn  out  to  be  true  or  false.  Its  coats  and  humours 
constructed  as  the  lenses  of  a telescope  are  constructed, 
for  the  refraction  of  rays  of  light  to  a point,  which  forms 
Uie  proper  office  of  the  organ:  the  provision  in  its  muscles 
for  turning  its  pupil  to  the  object,  similar  to  that  which  is 
given  to  the  telescope  by  screws,  and  upon  which  power 
of  direction  in  the  eye,  the  exercise  of  its  office  as  an 
optical  instrument  depends;  the  farther  provision  for  its 
defence,  fo^  its  constant  lubricity  and  moisture,  which  we 
see  ir  its  socket  ard  its  lids,  in  its  gland  for  the  secretion 


FUNCTIONS  OF  ANIMALS,  SlC. 


45 


of  the  matter  of  tears,  its  outlet  or  communication  with  the 
nose  for  carry  ng  off  the  liquid  aftor  the  eye  is  washed  with 
it;  these  provisions  compose  altogether  an  apparatus,  a 
system  of  parts,  a preparation  of  means,  so  manifest  in  their 
design,  so  exquisite  in  their  contrivance,  so  successful  in 
their  issue,  so  precious,  and  so  infinitely  beneficial  in  their 
use,  as,  in  my  opinion,  to  bear  down  all  doubt  that  can  be 
raised  upon  the  subject.  And  what  I wish,  un  ler  the  title 
of  the  present  chapter,  to  observe  is,  that  if  other  parts 
of  nature  were  inaccessible  to  our  inquiries,  or  even  if 
other  parts  of  nature  presented  nothing  to  our  examination 
out  disorder  and  confusion,  the  validity  of  this  example 
would  remain  the  same.  If  there  were  but  one  watch  in 
the  world,  it  would  not  be  less  certain  that  it  had  a maker. 
If  we  had  never  in  our  lives  seen  any  but  one  single  kind 
of  hydraulic  machine,  yet,  if  of  that  one  kind  we  understood 
the  mechanism  and  use,  we  should  be  as  perfectly  assured 
that  it  proceeded  from  the  hand,  and  thought,  and  skill  of 
a workman,  as  if  we  visited  a museum  of  the  arts,  and  saw 
collected  there  twenty  different  kinds  of  machines  foi 
drawing  water,  or  a thousand  different  kinds  for  othei 
purposes.  Of  this  point,  each  machine  is  a proof,  inde- 
pendently  of  all  the  rest.  So  it  is  with  the  evidences  of  si 
divine  agency.  The  proof  is  not  a conclusion  which  liea 
at  the  end  of  a chain  of  reasoning,  of  which  chain  each 
instance  of  contrivance  is  only  a link,  and  of  which,  if  one 
link  fail,  the  whole  falls;  but  it  is  an  argument  separately 
supplied  by  every  separate  example.  An  error  in  stating 
an  example  affects  only  that  example.  The  arg ament  is 
cumulative,  in  the  fullest  sense  of  that  term.  The  eye 
proves  it  without  the  ear;  the  ear  without  the  eye.  The 
proof  in  each  example  is  complete;  for  when  the  design  of 
the  part,  and  the  conduciveness  of  its  structure  to  that  de- 
sign is  shown,  the  mind  may  set  itself  at  rest;  no  future 
consideration  can  detract  anything  from  the  force  of  he 
example. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

OF  THE  MECHANICAL  AND  IMMECHANICAL  PARTS  AND  I UNC- 
TIONS OF  ANIMALS  AND  VEGETABLES. 

It  is  not  that  every  part  of  an  animal  or  vegetable  has 
not  proceeded  from  a contriving  mind;  or  that  every  part 
is  not  constructed  w’th  a view  to  its  proper  end  and  pur- 


46 


MECHANICAL  AND  IMMECHANICAL  PARTS 


pose,  according  to  the  laws  belonging  to  and  governing 
the  substance  or  the  action  made  use  of  in  that  part;  or 
that  each  part  is  not  so  constructed  as  to  effectuate  its 
purpose  whilft  it  operates  according  to  these  laws;  but  it 
is  because  these  laws  themselves  are  not  in  all  cases  equal- 
ly understood;  or,  what  amounts  to  nearly  the  same  thing, 
are  not  equally  exemplified  in  more  simple  processes,  and 
more  simple  machines;  that  we  lay  down  the  distinction, 
here  proposed,  between  the  mechanical  parts  and  ether 
parts  of  animals  and  vegetables. 

For  instance;  the  principle  of  muscular  motion,  viz, 
upon  what  cause  the  swelling  of  the  belly  of  the  muscle, 
and  consequent  contraction  of  its  tendons,  either  by  an 
act  of  the  will,  or  by  involuntary  irritation,  depends,  is 
wholly  unknown  to  us.  The  substance  employed,  whether 
it  be  fluid,  gaseous,  elastic,  electrical,  or  none  of  these,  or 
nothing  resembling  these,  is  also  unknown  to  us:  of  course, 
the  laws  belonging  to  that  substance,  and  which  regulate 
its  action,  are  unknown  to  us.  We  see  nothing  similar 
to  this  contraction  in  any  machine  which  we  can  make, 
or  any  process  which  we  can  execute.  So  far  (it  is  con- 
fessed) we  are  in  ignorance,  but  no  farther.  This  power 
and  principle,  from  whatever  cause  it  proceeds,  being  as- 
sumed, the  collocation  of  the  fibres  to  receive  the  princi- 
ple, the  disposition  of  the  muscles  for  the  use  and  applica- 
tion of  the  power,  is  mechanical;  and  is  as  intelligible  as 
the  adjustment  of  the  wires  and  strings  by  which  a puppet 
is  moved.  We  see,  therefore,  as  far  as  respects  the  sub- 
ject before  us,  what  is  not  mechanical  in  the  animal  frame, 
and  what  is.  The  nervous  influence  (for  we  are  often 
obliged  to  give  names  to  things  which  we  know  little 
about) — I say  the  nervous  influence,  by  which  the  belly, 
or  middle,  of  the  muscle  is  swelled,  is  not  mechar  ical. 
The  utility  of  the  effect  we  perceive;  the  means,  or  the 
preparation  of  means,  by  which  it  is  produced,  we  do  not 
But  obscurity  as  to  the  origin  of  muscular  motion  brings 
no  doubtfulness  into  our  observations  upon  the  sequel  of 
the  process:  Which  observations  relate,  1st,  to  the  con- 
stitution of  the  muscle;  in  consequence  of  which  consti- 
tution, the  swelling  of  the  belly  or  middle  part  is  neces- 
sarily and  mechanically  follow^ed  by  a retraction  of  the 
tendons:  2dly,  to  the  number  and  variety  of  the  muscles,  and 
the  corresponding  number  and  variety  of  useful  pow  ers — 
which  they  supply  to  the  animal ; which  is  astonishingly 
great:  3dly,  to  the  judicious,  (if  we  may  be  permitted  to 
use  that  erm,  ir  speaking  of  the  author  or  of  the  works 


AND  FVNCTIDNS  OF  ANIMALS,  &C. 


41 


of  nature,)  to  the  wise  and  well-contrived  disposition  of 
each  muscle  for  its  specific  purpose;  for  moving  the  joint 
this  way,  and  that  way,  and  the  other  way;  for  pulling 
and  drawing  the  part  to  which  it  is  attached,  in  a determi- 
nate and  particular  direction;  which  is  a mechanical  oper- 
ation, exemplified  in  a multitude  of  instances.  To  mention 
only  one:  The  tendon  of  the  trochlear  muscle  of  the  eye, 
to  the  end  that  it  may  draw  in  the  line  required,  is  passed 
through  a cartilaginous  ring,  at  which  it  is  reverted,  exact  y 
in  the  same  manner  as  a rope  in  a ship  is  carried  over  a 
block  or  round  a stay,  in  order  to  make  it  pull  in  the  direction 
which  is  wanted.  [PI.  V.  fig.  1.]  All  this,  as  we  have 
said,  is  mechanical;  and  is  accessible  to  inspection,  as  ca- 
pable of  being  ascertained,  as  the  mechanism  of  the  au- 
tomaton in  the  Strand.  Suppose  the  automaton  to  be  put  in 
motion  by  a magnet,  (which  is  probable,)  it  will  supply  us 
with  a comparison  very  apt  for  our  present  purpose.  Of 
the  magnetic  effluvium,  we  know  perhaps  as  little  as  we  do 
of  the  nervous  fluid.  But,  magnetic  attraction  being  as- 
sumed, (it  signifies  nothing  from  what  cause  it  proceeds,) 
we  can  trace,  or  there  can  be  pointed  out  to  us,  with  per- 
fect clearness  and  certainty,  the  mechanism,  viz.  the  steel 
bars,  the  wheels,  the  joints,  the  wires,  by  which  the  motion 
so  much  admired  is  communicated  to  the  fingers  of  the  im- 
age: and  to  make  any  obscurity,  or  difficulty,  or  contro- 
versy in  the  doctrine  of  magnetism,  an  objection  to  our 
knowledge  or  our  certainty  concerning  the  contrivance,  oi 
the  marks  of  contrivance,  displayed  in  the  automaton, 
would  be  exactly  the  same  thing,  as  it  is  to  make  our  ig- 
norance (which  we  acknowledge)  of  the  cause  of  nervous 
agency,  or  even  of  the  substance  and  structure  of  the 
nerves  themselves,  a ground  of  question  or  suspicion  as  to 
the  reasoning  which  we  institute  concerning  the  mechani- 
cal part  of  our  frame.  That  an  animal  is  a machine,  is  a 
proposition  neither  correctly  true  nor  wholly  false.  The 
distinction  which  we  have  been  discussing  will  serve  to 
show  how  far  the  comparison,  which  this  expression  im- 
plies, holds;  and  wherein  it  fails.  And  whether  the  dis- 
tinction be  thought  of  importance  or  not,  it  is  certainly  of 
importance  to  remember,  that  there  is  neither  truth  noi 
justice  in  endeavouring  to  bring  a cloud  over  our  under- 
standings, or  a distrust  into  our  reasonings  upon  this  sub- 
ject, by  suggesting  that  w^e  know  nothing  of  voluntary 
motion,  of  irritability,  of  the  principle  of  life,  of  sensation, 
of  animal  heat,  upon  all  which  the  animal  functions  de- 
pend; for,  our  ignorance  of  these  parts  of  the  animal  frame 


48 


MECHANICAL  AND  IMMECHANICAL  PARTS 


concerns  not  at  all  our  knowledge  of  the  mechanical  parts 
of  the  same  frame,  I contend,  therefore,  that  there  is 
mechanism  in  animals;  that  this  mechanism  is  as  proper- 
ly such,  as  it  is  in  machines  made  by  art;  that  this  me- 
chanism is  intelligible  and  certain;  that  it  is  not  the  less 
so,  because  it  often  begins  or  terminates  with  something 
which  is  not  mechanical:  that  whenever  it  is  intelligible 
and  certain,  it  demonstrates  intention  and  contrivance,  as 
well  in  the  works  of  nature  as  in  those  of  art ; and  that  it 
is  the  best  demonstration  which  either  can  afford. 

But  whilst  I contend  for  these  propositions,  I do  not 
exclude  myself  from  asserting,  that  there  may  be,  and  that 
there  are,  other  cases,  in  which,  although  we  cannot  ex- 
hibit mechanism,  or  prove  indeed  that  mechanism  is  em- 
ployed, we  want  not  sufficient  evidence  te  conduct  us  to 
the  same  conclusion. 

There  is  what  may  be  called  the  chemti.al  part  of  our 
frame;  of  which,  by  reason  of  the  imperfection  of  our 
chemistry,  we  can  attain  to  no  distinct  knowledge;  I 
mean,  not  to  a knowledge,  either  in  degree  or  kind,  similar 
to  that  which  we  possess  of  the  mechanical  part  of  our 
frame.  It  does  not,  therefore,  afford  the  same  species  of 
argument  as  that  which  mechanism  affords;  and  yet  it  may 
afford  an  argument  in  a high  degree  satisfactory.  The  gas- 
tric juice,  or  the  liquor  which  digests  the  food  in  the  stom- 
achs of  animals,  is  of  this  class.  Of  all  menstrua,  it  is  the 
most  active,  the  most  universal.  In  the  human  stomach,  for 
instance,  consider  what  a variety  of  strange  substances,  and 
how  widely  different  from  one  another,  it,  in  a few  hours,  re- 
duces to  a uniform  pulp,  milk,  or  mucilage.  It  seizes  upon 
everything,  it  dissolves  the  texture  of  almost  everything 
that  comes  in  its  way.  The  flesh  of  perhaps  all  animals; 
the  seeds  and  fruits  of  the  greatest  number  of  plants  ; the 
roots,  and  stalks,  and  leaves  of  many,  hard  and  tough  as 
they  are,  yield  to  its  powerful  pervasion.  The  change 
wrought  by  it  is  different  from  any  chemical  solution  which 
we  can  produce,  or  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  in  this 
respect  as  well  as  many  others,  that,  in  our  chemistry,  par- 
ticular menstrua  act  only  upon  particular  substances.  Com 
sider,  moreover,  that  this  fluid,  stronger  in  its  operation 
than  a caustic  alkali  or  mineral  acid,  than  red  precipitate, 
or  aqua-fortis  itself,  is  nevertheless  as  mild,  and  bland,  and 
inoffensive  to  the  touch  or  taste,  as  saliva  or  gum-water, 
which  it  much  resembles.  Consider,  I say,  these  several 
properties  of  the  digestive  organ,  and  of  the  juice  with 
which  it  is  supplied,  or  rather  with  which  it  is  made  to  sup- 


AND  FUNCTIONS  OF  ANIMALS,  &C 

ply  itself,  and  you  will  confess  it  to  be  entitled  tc  a name, 
which  it  has  sometimes  received,  that  of  “tie  chemical 
wonder  of  animal  nature.” 

Still  we  are  ignorant  of  the  composition  of  this  fluid,  and 
of  the  mode  of  its  action;  by  which  is  meant,  that  we  are 
not  capable,  as  we  are  in  the  mechanical  part  of  our  frame, 
of  collating  it  with  the  operations  of  art.  And  this  I call 
the  imperfection  of  our  chemistry;  for  should  the  time  ev- 
er arrive,  which  is  not  perhaps  to  be  despaired  of.  when  we 
can  compound  ingredients^ so  as  to  form  a solvent  which 
wdl  act  in  the  manner  in  which  the  gastric  juice  acts,  we 
may  be  able  to  ascertain  the  chemical  principles  upon 
which  its  efticacy  depends,  as  well  as  from  what  part,  and 
by  what  concoction,  in  the  human  body,  these  principles 
are  generated  and  derived. 

In  the  meantime,  ought  that,  which  is  in  truth  the  de- 
fect of  our  chemistry,  to  hinder  us  from  acquiescing  in  the 
inference,  which  a production  of  nature,  by  its  place,  its 
properties,  its  action,  its  surprising  eflicacy,  its  invaluable 
use,  authorises  us  to  draw  in  respect  of  a creative  design? 

Another  most  subtile  and  curious  function  of  animal  bod- 
ies is  secretion.  This  function  is  semi-chemical  and  semi- 
mechanical; exceedingly  important  and  diversified  in  its 
effects,  but  obscure  in  its  process  and  in  its  apparatus. 
The  importance  of  the  secretory  o4*gans  is  but  too  well  at- 
tested by  the  diseases,  which  an  excessive,  a deficient,  or  a 
vitiated  secretion  is  almost  sure  of  producing.  A single 
secretion  being  wrong,  is  enough  to  make  life  miserable, 
or  sometimes  to  destroy  it.  Nor  is  the  variety  less  than 
the  importance.  From  one  and  the  same  blood  ( I speak 
of  the  human  body)  about  twenty  different  fluids  are  sepa- 
rated; in  their  sensible  properties,  in  taste,  smell,  color, 
and  consistency,  the  most  unlike  one  another  that  is  possi- 
ble; thick,  thin,  salt,  bitter,  sweet:  and,  if  from  our  own 
we  pass  to  other  species  of  animals,  we  find  amongst  their 
secretions  not  only  the  most  various,  but  the  most  opposite 
properties;  the  most  nutritious  aliment,  the  deadliest  poi- 
son; the  sweetest  perfumes,  the  most  fetid  odors.  Of 
these  the  greater  part,  as  the  gastric  juice,  the  saliva,  the 
bile,  the  slippery  mucilage  which  lubricates  the  joints,  the 
tears  which  moisten  the  eye,  the  wax  which  defends  the 
ear,  are,  after  they  are  secreted,  made  use  of  in  the  animal 
economy;  are  evidently  subservient,  and  are  actually  con- 
tributing to  the  utilites  of  the  animal  itself.  Other  fluids 
seem  to  be  separated  only  to  be  rejected.  That  this  also 
is  necessary  (though  why  it  was  originally  necessary,  we 

E 


50  MECHANrCAL  AND  IMMECHANICAL  PARTS 

cannot  tell)  is  shown  by  the  consequence  of  the  sepaiation 
being  long  suspended;  which  consequence  is  disease  and 
death.  Akin  to  secretion,  if  riot  the  same  thing,  is  assim- 
ilation, by  which  one  and  the  same  blood  is  converted  into 
bone,  muscular  flesh,  nerves,  membranes,  tendons;  things 
as  different  as  the  wood  and  iron,  canvass  and  cordage,  of 
which  a ship  with  its  furniture  is  composed.  We  have  no 
operation  of  art  wherewith  exactly  to  compare  all  this,  for  no 
Mlier  reason  perhaps  than  that  all  operations  of  art  are  ex- 
ceeded by  it.  No  chemical  election,  no  chemical  analysis 
or  resolution  of  a substance  into  its  constituent  parts,  no  me- 
chanical sifting  or  divison,  that  we  are  acquainted  with,  in 
perfection  or  variety,  come  up  to  animal  secretion.  Never- 
theless, the  apparatus  and  process  are  obscure;  not  to  say 
absolutely  concealed  from  our  inquiries.  In  a few,  and  only 
a few  instances,  we  can  discern  a little  of  the  constitution 
of  a gland.  In  the  kidneys  of  large  animals,  we  can  trace 
the  emulgent  artery  dividing  itself  into  an  infinite  number 
of  branches;  their  extremities  everywhere  communicating 
v/ith  little  round  bodies,  in  the  substance  of  which  bodies 
the  secret  of  the  machinery  seems  to  reside,  for  there  the 
change  is  made.  We  can  discern  pipes  laid  from  these 
round  bodies  towards  the  pelvis,  which  is  a basin  within 
the  solid  of  the  kidney.  (PI.  VI.  fig.  2.)  We  can  discern 
these  pipes  joining  and  collecting  together  into  larger  pipes; 
and  when  so  collected,  ending  in  innumerable  papillae, 
through  which  the  secreted  fluid  is  continually  oozing  into 
its  receptacle.  This  is  all  we  know  of  the  mechanism  of 
a gland,  even  in  the  case  in  which  it  seems  most  capable 
of  being  investigated.  Yet  to  pronounce  that  w^e  know 
nothing  of  animal  secretion,  or  nothing  satisfactorily,  and 
wdth  that  concise  remark  to  dismiss  the  article  from  our 
argument,  would  be  to  dispose  of  the  subject  very  hastily 
and  very  irrationally.  For  the  purpose  w^hich  we  want,  that 
of  evincing  intention,  we  know  a great  deal.  And  what  we 
know  is  this.  We  see  the  blood  carried  by  a pipe,  conduit, 
or  duct,  io  the  gland.  We  see  an  organized  apparatus,  be 
its  construction  or  action  what  it  may,  which  we  call  that 
gland.  We  see  the  blood,  or  part  of  the  blood,  after  it 
has  passed  through  and  undergone  the  action  of  the  gland, 
coming  from  it  by  an  emulgent  vein  or  artery,  i.  e.  by  an- 
other pipe  or  conduit.  And  we  see  also  at  the  same  time 
a new  and  specific  fluid  issuing  from  the  same  gland  by  its 
excretory  duct,  i.  e.  by  a third  pipe  or  conduit;  which  new 
fluid  is  in  some  cases  discharged  out  of  the  body,  in  more 
cases  retained  within  it,  and  there  executing  some  impoi- 


AND  FUNCTIONS  OF  ANIMALS. 


51 


^ant  and  intelligent  office.  Now  supposing,  or  admitting, 
that  we  know  nothing  of  the  proper  internal  constitution  of 
a gland,  or  of  the  mode  of  its  acting  upon  the  blood;  then 
our  situation  is  precisely  like  that  of  an  unmechanical  look- 
er-on, who  stands  by  a stocking-loom,  a corn-mill,  a card- 
mg-machine,  or  a threshing-machine,  at  work,  the  fabric 
md  mechanism  of  which,  as  well  as  all  that  passes  within, 
fS  hidden  from  his  sight  by  the  outside  case;  or,  if  seen, 
would  be  too  complicated  for  his  uninformed,  uninstructed 
understanding  to  comprehend.  And  what  is  that  situation? 
This  spectator,  ignorant  as  he  is,  sees  at  one  end  a mate- 
rial enter  the  machine,  as  unground  grain  the  mill,  raw  cot- 
ton the  carding-machine,  sheaves  of  unthreshed  corn  the 
threshing-machine;  and,  when  he  casts  his  eye  to  the  other 
end  of  the  apparatus,  he  sees  the  material  issuing  from  it 
in  anew  state;  and,  what  is  more,  in  a state  manifestly 
adapted  to  future  use&;  the  grain  in  meal  fit  for  the  making 
of  bread,  the  wool  in  rovings  ready  for  spinning  into 
threads,  the  sheaf  in  corn  dressed  for  the  mill.  Is  it  ne- 
cessary that  this  man,  in  order  to  be  convinced  that  design, 
that  intention,  that  contrivance  has  been  employed  about 
the  machine,  should  be  allowed  to  pull  it  to  pieces;  should 
be  enabled  to  examine  the  parts  separately;  explore  their 
action  upon  one  another,  or  their  operation,  whether  simul- 
taneous or  successive,  upon  the  material  which  is  presented 
to  them?  He  may  long  to  do  this,  to  gratify  his  curiosity; 
he  may  desire  to  do  it  to  improve  his  theoretic  know- 
ledge ; or  he  may  have  a more  substantial  reason  for  re- 
questing it,  if  he  happen,  instead  of  a common  visiter,  to 
be  a mill  wright  by  profession,  or  a person  sometimes  call- 
ed in  to  repair  such-like  machines  when  out  of  order;  but, 
for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  the  existence  of  counsel 
and  design  in  the  formation  of  the  machine,  he  wants  no 
such  intromission  or  privity.  What  he  sees  is  sufficient. 
The  effect  upon  the  material,  the  change  produced  in  it, 
the  utility  of  that  change  for  future  applications,  abundantly 
testify,  be  the  concealed  part  of  the  machine  or  of  its  con- 
struction what  it  may,  the  hand  and  agency  of  a contriver. 

If  any  confirmation  were  wanting  to  the  evidence  which 
the  animal  secretions  afford  of  design,  it  may  be  derived, 
as  has  been  already  hinted,  from  their  variety,  and  from 
their  appropriation  to  their  place  and  use.  They  all  come 
from  the  same  blood:  they  are  all  drawn  off  by  glands:  yet 
the  produce  is  very  different,  and  the  difference  exactly 
adapted  to  the  work  which  is  to  be'  done,  or  the  end  to  be 
answei  ed.  No  account  can  be  given  of  this,  without  re- 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLlNOiS 


52 


OF  MECHANICAL  ARRANGEMENT 


sorting  to  appointment.  Why,  for  instance,  is  the  saliva 
which  is  diffused  over  the  seat  of  taste,  insipid,  whilst  so 
many  others  of  the  secretions,  the  urine,  the  tears,  and  the 
sweat,  are  salt.^  Why  does  the  gland  within  the  ear  sepa- 
rate a viscid  substance,  which  defends  that  passage;  the 
gland  in  the  upper  angle  of  the  eye,  a thin  brine,  which 
washes  the  ball?  Why  is  the  synovia  of  the  joints  mu- 
cilaginous; the  bile  bitter,  stimulating,  and  soapy?  Why 
does  the  juice  which  flows  into  the  stomach,  contain  pow- 
ers, which  make  that  organ  the^reat  laboratory,  as  it  is  by 
its  situation  the  recipient,  of  the  materials  of  future  nutri- 
tion? These  are  all  fair  questions;  and  no  answer  can  be 
given  to  them,  but  what  calls  in  intelligence  and  intention. 

My  object  in  the  present  chapter  has  been  to  teach  three 
things:  first,  that  it  is  a mistake  to  suppose  that,  in  reason- 
ing from  the  appearances  of  nature,  the  imperfection  of 
our  knowledge  proportionably  affects  the  certainty  of  our 
conclusion;  for  in  many  cases  it  does  not  affect  it  at  all: 
secondly,  that  the  different  parts  of  the  animal  frame  may 
be  classed  and  distributed,  according  to  the  degree  of  ex- 
actness with  which  we  can  compare  them  with  works  of 
art:  thirdly,  that  the  mechanical  parts  of  our  frame,  or 
those  in  which  this  comparison  is  most  complete,  although 
constituting,  probably,  the  coarsest  portions  of  nature’s 
workmanship,  are  the  most  proper  to  be  alle'ged  as  proofs 
and  specimens  of  design. 


CHAPTER  VIIJ. 

OF  MECHANICAL  ARRANGEMENT  IN  THE  HUMAN  FRAME 

We  proceed,  therefore,  to  propose  certain  examples  ta- 
ken out  of  this  class:  making  choice  of  such  as,  amongst 
those  which  have  come  to  our  knowledge,  appear  to  be  the 
most  striking,  and  the  best  understood;  but  obliged,  per- 
haps, cO  postpone  both  these  recommendations  to  a third; 
that  of  the  example  being  capable  of  explanation  without 
places,  or  figures,  or  technical  language. 

OF  THE  bones. 

1 challenge  any  man  to  produce,  in  the  joints  and 
pivots  of  the  most  con^plicated  or  the  most  flexible  ma 
•fliine  that  was  ever  contrived,  a construction  more  artifi 


IN  THE  HUMAN  FRAME. 


53 


cial,  or  more  evidently  artificial,  than  that  which  is  seen 
in  the  vertebrce  of  the  human  neck.  [PI.  VII.  fig.  1.]  Two 
things  were  to  be  done.  The  head  was  to  have  the  power 
of  bending  forward  and  backward,  as  in  the  act  of  nodding, 
stooping,  looking  upward  or  downward;  and,  at  the  same 
time,  of  turning  itself  round  upon  the  body  to  a certain 
extent,  the  quadrant  we  will  say,  or  rather,  perhaps,  a hun- 
dred and  twenty  degrees  of  a circle.  For  these  two  pur- 
poses, two  distinct  contrivances  are  employed;  [PI.  VII. 
fig.  2,  3,  4.]  First,  the  head  rests  immediately  upon  the 
uppermost  of  the  vertebrm,  and  is  united  to  it  by  a hinge- 
joint;  upon  which  joint  the  head  plays  freely  forward  and 
backward,  as  far  either  way  as  is  necessary,  or  as  the  liga- 
ments allow;  which  was  the  first  thing  required. — But 
then  the  rotatory  motion  is  unprovided  for.  Therefore, 
secondly,  to  make  the  head  capable  of  this,  a farther  me- 
chanism is  introduced ; not  between  the  head  and  the  up- 
permost bone  of  the  neck,  where  the  hinge  is,  but  between 
that  bone,  and  the  bone  next  underneath  it.  It  is  a me- 
chanism resembling  a tenon  and  mortice.  This  second, 
or  uppermost  bone  but  one,  has  what  anatomists  call  a pro- 
cess, viz.  a projection,  somewhat  similar,  in  size  and  shape, 
to  a tooth;  which  tooth,  entering  a corresponding  hole  or 
socket  in  the  bone  above  it,  forms  a pivot  or  axle,  upon 
which  that  upper  bone,  together  with  the  head  which  it 
supports,  turns  freely  in  a circle;  and  as  far  in  the  circle 
as  the  attached  muscles  permit  the  head  to  turn.  Thus 
are  both  motions  perfect,  without  interfering  with  each 
other.  When  we  nod  the  head,  we  use  the  hinge-joint, 
which  lies  between  the  head  and  the  first  bone  of  the  neck 
When  we  turn  the  head  round,  w^e  use  the  tenon  and  mor- 
tice, which  runs  between  the  first  bone  of  the  neck  and  the 
second.  We  see  the  same  contrivance,  and  the  same  prin- 
ciple, employed  in  the  frame  or  mounting  of  a telescope. 
It  is  occasionally  requisite,  that  the  object-end  ^ the  in 
Btrument  be  moved  up  and  down,  as  well  as  horizontally; 
or  equatorially.  For  the  vertical  motion,  there  is  a hinge, 
upon  which  the  telescope  plays;  for  the  horizontal  or 
equatorial  motion,  an  axis  upon  which  the  telescope  and 
the  hinge  turn  round  together.  And  this  is  exactly  the 
mechanism  which  is  applied  to  the  motion  of  the  head: 
nor  will  any  one  here  doubt  of  the  existence  of  counsel  and 
design,  except  it  be  by  that  debility  of  mind,  which  can 
trust  to  its  own  reasonings  in  nothing. 

^Ve  may  add,  that  it  was.  on  another  account  also,  ex- 
pedient, that  the  motion  of  the  head  backward  and  for- 


54 


OF  MECHANICAL  ARRANGEMENT 


ward  should  be  performed  upon  the  upper  surface  of  the 
first  vertebrae : for,  if  the  first  vertebrae  itself  had  bent  for- 
ward, it  would  have  brought  the  spinal  marrow,  at  the  very 
beginning  of  its  course,  upon  the  point  of  the  tooth. 

II.  Another  mechanical  contrivance,  not  unlike  the  last 
in  its  object,  but  different  and  original  in  its  means,  is  seen 
in  what  anatomists  call  the  fore-arm;  that  is,  in  the  arm 
from  the  elbow  to  the  wrist.  [PI.  VIII.  fig.  1,  2.]  Here, 
for  the  perfect  use  of  the  limb,  two  motions  are  wanted;  a 
motion  at  the  elbow  backward  and  forward,  which  is  called 
a reciprocal  motion;  and  a rotatory  motion,  by  which  the 
palm  of  the  hand,  as  occasion  requires,  may  be  turned  up- 
ward. How  is  this  managed.^  The  fore-arm,  it  is  well 
known,  consists  of  two  bones  lying  alongside  each  other, 
but  touching  only  towards  the  ends.  One,  and  only  one  of 
these  bones,  is  joined  to  the  cubit,  or  upper  part  of  the  arm, 
at  the  elbow;  the  other  alone,  to  the  hand  at  the  wrist. 
The  first  by  means,  at  the  elbow,  of  a hinge-joint,  (which 
allows  only  of  motion  in  the  same  plane,)  swings  backward 
and  forward,  carrying  along  with  it  the  other  bone,  and 
the  whole  fore-arm.  In  the  meantime,  as  often  as  there  is 
occasion  to  turn  the  palm  upward,  that  other  bone,  to 
which  the  hand  is  attached,  rolls  upon  the  first,  by  the 
help  of  a groove  or  hollow  near  each  end  of  one  bone, 
to  which  is  fitted  a corresponding  prominence  in  the  other. 
If  both  bones  had  been  joined  to  the  cubit,  or  upper  arm, 
at  the  elbow,  or  both  to  the  hand  at  the  wrist,  the 
thing  could  not  have  been  done.  The  first  was  to  be  at 
liberty  at  one  end,  and  the  second  at  the  other:  by  which 
means  the  two  actions  may  be  performed  together.  The 
great  bone,  which  carries  the  fore-arm,  may  be  swinging 
upon  its  hinge  at  the  elbow,  at  the  very  time  that  the  les- 
ser bone,  which  carries  the  hand,  may  be  turning  round  it 
in  the  grooves.  The  management  also  of  these  grooves, 
or  rather  of  the  tubercles  and  grooves,  is  very  observable 
The  two  bones  are  called  the  radius  and  the  ulna.  Above, 
i.  e.  towards  the  elbow,  a tubercle  of  the  radius  plays  into 
a socket  of  the  ulna;  whilst  below,  i.  e.  towards  the  wrist, 
the  radius  finds  the  socket,  and  the  ulna  the  tubercle.  A 
single  bone  in  the  fore-arm,  with  a ball  and  socket  joint  at 
the  elbow,  which  admits  of  motion  in  all  directions,  might, 
in  some  degree,  have  answered  the  purpose  of  both  moving 
the  arm  and  turning  the  hand.  But  how  much  better  it  is 
accomplished  by  the  present  mechanism,  any  person  may 
convince  himself,  who  puts  the  ease  and  quickness,  with 
whiol.  he  can  shake  his  liand  at  the  wrist  circularly,  (mov- 


IN  THE  HUMAN  FRAME. 


55 


ing  likewise,  if  he  pleases,  his  arm  at  the  elbo;v  at  the 
same  time,)  in  competition  with  the  comparatively  slow  and 
laborious  motion  with  which  his  arm  can  be  made  to  turn 
round  at  the  shoulder,  by  the  aid  of  a ball  and  socket  joint. 

Ill  The  spine,  or  back  bone,  is  a chain  of  joints  of  very 
wondtrful  construction.  [PI.  IX.  fig.  1,  2.]  Various,  dif- 
ficult, and  almost  inconsistent  offices  were  to  be  executed 
by  the  same  instrument.  It  was  to  be  firm,  yet  flexible, 
(now  I know  no  chain  made  by  art,  which  is  both  these; 
lor  by  firmness  I mean,  not  only  strength,  but  stability:) 
film,  to  support  the  erect  position  of  the  body ; flexible,  to 
allow  of  the  bending  of  the  trunk  in  all  degrees  of  curva- 
ture. It  was  farther  also  (which  is  another,  and  quite  a 
distinct  purpose  from  the  rest)  to  become  a pipe  or  conduit 
for  the  safe  conveyance  from  the  brain,  of  the  most  important 
fluid*  of  the  animal  frame,  that,  namely,  upon  which  all 
voluntary  motion  depends,  the  spinal  marrow ; a substance 
not  only  of  the  first  necessity  to  action,  if  not  to  life,  but 
of  a nature  so  delicate  and  tender,  so  susceptible,  and  so 
impatient  of  injury,  as  that  any  unusual  pressure  upon  it, 
or  any  considerable  obstruction  of  its  course,  is  followed 
by  paralysis  or  death.  Now  the  spine  was  not  only  to 
furnish  the  main  trunk  for  the  passage  of  the  medullary 
substance  from  the  brain,  but  to  give  out,  in  the  course  of 
its  progress,  small  pipes  therefrom,  which,  being  afterwards 
indefinitely  subdivided,  might,  under  the  name  of  nerves, 
distribute  this  exquisite  supply  to  every  part  of  the  body. 
The  same  spine  was  also  to  serve  another  use  not  less  want- 
ed than  the  preceding,  viz.  to  afford  a fulcrum,  stay,  or 
basis,  (or,  more  properly  speaking,  a series  of  these)  for 
the  insertion  of  the  muscles  which  are  spread  over  the 
trunk  of  the  body;  in  which  trunk  there  are  not,  as  in  the 
limbs,  cylindrical  bones,  to  which  they  can  be  fastened: 
and,  likewise,  which  is  a similar  use,  to  furnish  a suppoil 
for  the  ends  of  the  ribs  to  rest  upon 

Bespeak  of  a workman  a piece  of  mechanism  which 
shall  comprise  all  these  purposes,  and  let  him  set  about  to 
contrive  it;  let  him  try  his  skill  upon  it;  let  him  feel  the 

* It  seems  proper  to  remark  here,  that  the  form  of  expression  made 
use  of  in  this  case  implies  what  is  not  strictly  true.  The  spinal  marrow,  or 
more  properly  the  spinal  nerve,  is  not  a fluid  but  a solid  cord  extending 
from  the  brain  down  through  the  canal  of  the  spine,  from  which  branches 
are  distribute  ! to  all  parts  of  the  body.  Dr.  1‘aley  in  this  instsaice  prob- 
ably had  in  view  the  animal  spirhs,  a subtile  fluid,  which  was  formerly 
oelieved  to  be  seated  in  tho  >rain,  ind  carried  through  the  nerves  to  thu 
different  par's. — Ed, 


56 


OF  MECHANICAL  ARRANGEMENT 


difficulty  of  accomplishing  the  task,  before  he  be  told  how 
the  same  thing  is  effected  in  the  animal  frame.  Nothing 
will  enable  him  to  judge  so  well  of  the  wisdom  which  has 
been  employed;  nothing  will  dispose  him  to  think  of  it  so 
truly.  First,  for  the  firmness,  yet  flexibility,  of  the  spine, 
it  is  composed  of  a great  number  of  bones  (in  the  human 
subject,  of  twenty-four)  joined  to  one  another,  and  compact- 
ed by  broad  bases.  The  breadth  of  the  bases  upon  which 
the  parts  severally  rest,  and  the  closeness  of  the  junction, 
give  to  the  chain  its  firmness  and  stability;  the  number  of 
parts,  and  consequent  frequency  of  joints,  its*  flexibility. 
Which  flexibility,  we  may  also  observe,  varies  in  different 
parts  of  the  chain:  is  least  in  the  back,  where  strength 
more  than  flexure,  is  wanted;  greater  in  the  loins,  which 
it  was  necessary  should  be  more  supple  than  the  back, 
and  greatest  of  all  in  the  neck,  for  the  free  motion  of  the 
head.  Then,  secondly,  in  order  to  afford  a passage  for 
the  descent  of  the  medullary  substance,  each  of  these 
bones  is  bored  through  the  middle  in  such  a manner,  as 
that,  when  put  together,  the  hole  in  one  bone  falls  into  a 
line,  and  corresponds  with  the  holes  in  the  two  bones  con- 
tiguous to  it.  By  which  means  the  perforated  pieces, 
when  joined,  form  an  entire,  close,  uninterrupted  channel ; 
at  least,  whilst  the  spine  is  upright,  and  at  rest.  But,  as 
d settled  posture  is  inconsistent  with  its  use,  a great  diffi- 
culty still  remained,  which  was  to  prevent  the  vertebrm 
shifting  upon  one  another,  so  as  to  break  the  line  of  the 
canal  as  often  as  the  body  moves  or  twists;  or  the  joints 
gaping  externally,  whenever  the  body  is  bent  forward,  and 
the  spine  thereupon  made  to  take  the  form  of  a bow.  These 
dangers,  which  are  mechanical,  are  mechanically  provided 
against.  The  vertebrre,  by  means  of  their  processes  and 
projections,  and  of  the  articulations  which  some  of  these 
form  with  one  another  at  their  extremities,  are  so  locked  in 
and  confined,  as  to  maintain,  in  what  are  called  the  bodies  or 
broad  surfaces  of  the  bones,  the  relative  position  nearly  un- 
altered; and  to  throw  the  change  and  the  pressure,  produced 
by  flexion,  almost  entirely  upon  the  intervening  cartilages, 
the  springiness  and  yielding  nature  of  whose  substance  ad- 
mits of  all  the  motion  which  is  necessary  to  be  performed 
upon  them,  without  any  chasm  being  produced  by  a separa- 
.ion  of  the  parts.  I say,  of  all  the  motion  which  is  necessa- 
ry; for  although  we  bend  our  backs  to  every  degree  almost 
of  inclinaiion,  the  motion  of  each  vertebrm  is  very  small: 
such  is  the  advantage  we  receive  from  the  chain  being 
mposed  ol'so  many  links,  the  spine  of  so  many  bones 


9 


IN  THE  HUMAN  FRAME. 


57 


FTad  it  consisted  of  three  or  four  bones  only,  in  bendiLg 
the  body  the  spinal  marrow  must  have  been  bruised  at 
every  angle.  The  reader  need  not  be  told,  that  these  inter- 
vening cartilages  are  gristles;  and  he  may  see  them  in 
perfection  in  a loin  of  veal.  Their  form  also  favors  the 
same  intention.  They  are  thicker  before  than  behind;  so 
that,  when  we  stoop  forward,  the  compressible  substance  of 
the  cartilage,  yielding  in  its  thicker  and  anterior  part  to  the 
force  which  squeezes  it,  brings  the  surfaces  of  the  adjoining 
vertebrae  nearer  to  the  being  parallel  with  one  another  than 
they  were  before,  instead  of  increasing  the  inclination  of 
their  planes,  which  must  have  occasioned  a fissure  or  open- 
ing between  them.  Thirdly,  for  the  medullary  canal  giv- 
ing out  in  its  course,  and  in  a convenient  order,  a supply 
of  nerves  to  different  parts  of  the  body,  notches  are  made 
in  the  upper  and  lower  edge  of  every  vertebra,  two  on 
each  edge,  equi-distant  on  each  side  from  the  middle  line 
of  the  back.  When  the  vertebras  are  put  together,  these 
notches,  exactly  fitting,  form  small  holes,  through  which 
the  nerves,  at  each  articulation,  issue  out  in  pairs,  in  order 
to  se*nd  their  branches  to  every  part  of  the  body,  and  with 
an  equal  bounty  to  both  sides  of  the  body.  The  fourth 
purpose  assigned  to  the  same  instrument  is  the  insertion 
of  the  bases  of  the  muscles,  and  the  support  of  the  ends 
of  the  ribs;  and  for  this  fourth  purpose,  especially  the  for 
mer  part  of  it,  a figure,  specifically  suited  to  the  design, 
and  unnecessary  for  the  other  purposes,  is  given  to  the 
constituent  bones.  Whilst  they  are  plain,  and  round,  and 
smooth,  towards  the  front,  where  any  roughness  or  projec 
tion  might  have  wounded  the  adjacent  viscera,  they  run 
out  behind,  and  on  each  side,  into  lopg  processes,  to  which 
processes  the  muscles  necessary  to  the  motions  of  the  trunk 
are  fixed;  and  fixed  with  such  art,  that,  whilst  the  verte- 
brae supply  a basis  for  the  muscles,  the  muscles  help  to 
keep  these  bones  in  their  position,  or  by  their  tendons  to 
tie  them  together. 

That  most  important,  however,  and  general  property,  viz 
the  strength  of  the  compages,  and  the  security  againt  lux- 
ation, was  to  be  still  more  specially  consulted:  for  where 
so  many  joints  were  concerned,  and  where,  in  every  one, 
derangement  would  have  been  fatal,  it  became  a subject  oi 
studious  precaution.  For  this  purpose,  the  vertebrae  are 
articulated,  that  is,  the  moveable  joints  between  them  are 
formed  by  means  of  those  projections  of  their  substance, 
which  we  have  mentioned  under  the  name  of  processes; 
and  these  so  lock  in  with,  and  overwrap  one  another,  a 


58 


OF  MECHANICAL  ARRANGEMENT 


to  secure  the  body  of  the  vertebrje,  not  only  from  accident- 
ally slipping,  but  even  from  being  pushed  out  of  its  place 
by  any  violence  short  of  that  which  would  break  the  bone. 
I have  often  remarked  and  admired  this  structure  in  the 
chine  of  a hare.  In  this,  as  in  many  instances,  a plain  ob- 
server of  the  animal  economy  may  spare  himself  the  disgust 
of  being  present  at  human  dissections,  and  yet  learn  enough 
for  his  information  and  satisfaction,  by  even  examining  the 
bones  of  ti  e animals  which  come  upon  his  table.  Let  him 
take,  for  example,  into  his  hands,  apiece  of  the  clean-pick- 
ed bone  of  a hare’s  back;  consisting,  we  will  suppose,  of 
three  vertebree.  He  will  find  the  middle  bone  of  the  three 
so  implicated  by  means  of  its  projections  or  processes,  with 
the  bone  on  each  side  of  it,  that  no  pressure  which  he  can 
use,  will  force  it  out  of  its  place  between  them.  It  will 
give  way  neither  forward,  nor  backward,  nor  on  either  side. 
In  whichever  direction  he  pushes,  he  perceives,  in  the 
form,  or  junction,  or  overlapping  of  the  bones,  an  impedi- 
ment opposed  to  his  attempt ; a check  and  guard  against 
dislocation.  In  one  part  of  the  spine,  he  will  find  a still 
farther  fortifying  expedient,  in  the  mode  according  to 
which  the  ribs  are  annexed  to  the  spine.  Each  rib  rests 
upon  two  vertebrae.  That  is  the  thing  to  be  remarked, 
and  any  one  may  remark  it  in  carving  a neck  of  mutton 
The  manner  of  it  is  this:  the  end  of  the  rib  is  divided  by 
a middle  ridge  into  two  surfaces;  which  surfaces  are  join- 
ed to  the  bodies  of  two  contiguous  vertebrae,  the  ridge  ap- 
plying itself  to  the  intervening  cartilage.  Now  this  is  the 
very  contrivance  v/hich  is  employed  in  the  famous  iron 
bridge  at  my  door  at  Bishop-Wearmouth ; and  for  the  same 
purpose  of  stability;  viz.  the  cheeks  of  the  bars,  which  pass 
between  the  arches,  ride  across  the  joints,  by  which  the 
pieces  composing  each  arch  are  united.  Each  cross-bar 
rests  upon  two  of  these  pieces  cat  their  place  of  junction; 
and  by  tliat  position  resists,  at  least  in  one  direction,  any 
tendency  in  either  piece  to  slip  out  of  its  place.  Thus 
perfectly,  by  one  means  or  the  other,  is  the  danger  of  slip- 
ping laterally,  or  of  being  drawn  aside  out  of  the  line  of  the 
back,  provided  against:  and  to  withstand  the  bones  being 
pulled  asunder  longitudinally,  or  in  the  direction  of  that 
. line,  a strong  membrane  runs  from  one  end  of  the  chain  tv: 
the  other,  sulficient  to  resist  any  force  wliich  is  ever  likel} 
to  act  in  the  direction  of  the  back,  or  parallel  to  it,  ana 
consequently  to  secure  the  wliolc  combination  in  their 
olaces.  The  general  result  is,  that  not  only  the  motions  of 
’’he  human  body  necessary  for  tlic  ordinary  otlices  of  life 


IN  THE  HUMAN  FRAME. 


59 


are  performed  with  safety,  but  that  it  is  an  accident  hard- 
ly ever  heard  of,  that  even  the  gesticulations  of  a harlequ  in 
distort  his  spine. 

Upon  the  whole,  and  as  a guide  to  those  who  may  be  in- 
clined to  carry  the  consideration  of  this  subject  farther, 
there  are  three  views  under  which  the  spine  ought  to  be 
regarded,  and  in  all  which  it  cannot  fail  to  excite  our  ad- 
miration. These  views  relate  to  its  articulations,  its  liga- 
ments, and  its  perforation,  and  to  the  corresponding  advan- 
tages which  the  body  derives  from  it,  for  action,  for  strength, 
and  for  that  which  is  essential  to  every  part,  a secure  com- 
munication with  the  brain."^ 

✓ 

* It  will  be  useful  to  append  to  the  remarks  of  Dr.  Paley  upon  the 
mechanism  of  the  spine  and  of  other  parts  of  the  body,  some  observations 
by  a very  eminent  anatomist  and  surgeon  now  living,  who  has  lately 
considered  the  subject  of  Animal  Mechanism  in  its  connexion  with  Natu- 
ral Theology,  and  has  presented  some  striking  and  original  views. 
These  observations  have  been  published  as  one  of  the  treatises  of  the 
Society  for  the  Diffusion  of  Useful  Knowledge,  which  forms  the  ninth 
number  of  the  series.  These  extracts  will  be  the  more  histructive  asgiv 
ing  views  of  a professional  observer  in  confirmation  of  those  of  our  au- 
thor ; and  they  will  also  serve  as  additional  illustrations  of  the  same  great 
truths  which  he  has  endeavoured  to  enforce. — Ed, 

“The  spinal  column,  as  it  is  called,  serves  three  purposes  : it  is  the 
great  bond  of  union  between  all  the  parts  of  the  skeleton;  it  forms  a tube 
for  the  lodgement  of  the  spinal  marrow,  a part  of  the  nervous  system  as 
important  to  life  as  the  brain  itself ; and  lastly,  it  is  a column  to  sustain 
the  head. 

We  now  see  the  importance  of  the  spine,  and  we  shall  next  explain 
how  the  various  offices  are  provided  for. 

If  the  protection  of  the  spinal  marrow  had  been  the  only  object  of 
this  structure,  it  is  natural  to  infer  that  it  would  have  been  a strong  and 
unyielding  tube  of  bone;  but,  as  it  must  yield  to  the  inflexion  of  the  body, 
it. cannot  be  constituted  in  so  strict  an  analogy  with  the  skull.  It  must, 
therefore,  bend;  but  it  must  have  no  abrupt  or  considerable  bending  at 
one  part;  for  the  spinal  marrow  within  would  in  this  way  suffer. 

By  this  consideration  we  perceive  why  there  are  twenty-four  bones  in 
the  spine,  each  bending  a little;  each  articulated  or  making  a joint  with 
ts  fellow;  all  yielding  in  a slight  degree,  and,  consequently,  permitting 
m the  whole  spine  that  flexibility  necessary  to  the  motions  of  the  body. 
It  is  next  to  be  observed  that,  whilst  the  spine  by  this  provision  moves  in 
every  direction,  it  gains  a property  which  it  belongs  more  to  our  present 
purpose  to  understand.  The  bones  of  the  spine  are  called  vertebrae;  at 
each  interstice  between  these  bones,  there  is  a peculiar  gristly  substance, 
which  is  squeezed  out  from  between  the  bones,  and,  therefore,  permits 
them  to  approach  and  play  a little  in  the  motions  of  the  body.  This 
gristly  substance  is  enclosed  in  an  elastic  binding,  or  membrane  of  great 
strength,  which  passes  from  the  edge  or  border  of  one  vertebra,  to  the  bor- 
der of  the  one  next  it.  When  a weight  is  upon  the  body,  the  soft  giistK 
is  pressed  out,  and  the  membrane  yields:  the  moment  the  weight  is  remo^ 


60 


ON  MECHANICAL  ARRAN  DEMENT 


The  structure  of  the  spine  is  not  in  general  different  in 
different  animals.  In  the  serpent  tribe,  however,  it  is  con- 
ed, the  membranes  recoil  by  their  elasticity,  the  gristle  is  pressed  into  its 
place,  and  the  bones  resume  their  position. 

We  can  readily  understand  how  great  the  influence  of  these  twenty- 
four  joinings  must  be  in  giving  elasticity  to  the  whole  column  ; and  how 
much  this  must  tend  to  the  protection  of  the  brain.  Were  it  not  for  tliis 
interposition  of  elastic  material,  every  motion  of  the  body  would  produce 
a jar  to  the  delicate  texture  of  the  brain,  and  we  should  suffer  almost  as 
much  in  alighting  on  our  feet,  as  in  falling  on  our  head.  It  is,  as  we  have 
already  remarked,  necessary  to  interpose  thin  plates  of  lead  or  slate  be- 
tween the  different  pieces  of  a column  to  prevent  the  edges  (technically 
called  arrises)  of  the  cylinders  from  coming  in  contact,  as  they  would,  in 
that  case,  chip  or  split  off. 

But  there  is  another  very  curious  provision  for  the  protection  of  the 
brain;  we  mean  the  curved  form  of  the  spine.  If  a steel  spring,  perfectly 
straight,  be  pressed  between  the  hands  from  its  extremities,  it  will  resist, 
notwithstanding  its  elasticity,  and  when  it  does  give  way,  it  will  be  with 
a jerk. 

Such  would  be  the  effect  on  the  spine  if  it  stood  upright,  one  bone 
perpendicular  to  another;  for  then  the  weight  would  bear  equally;  the 
spine  would  yiel^neither  to  one  side  nor  to  the  other;  and,  consequently, 
there  would  be  a resistance  from  the  pressure  on  all  sides  being  balanced. 
We,  therefore,  see  the  great  advantage  resulting  from  the  human  spine 
being  in  the  form  of  an  italic  f.  It  is  prepared  to  yield  in  the  direction 
of  its  curves;  the  pressure  is  of  necessity  more  upon  one  side  of  the  col- 
umn than  on  the  other;  and  its  elasticity  is  immediately  in  operation 
without  a jerk.  It  yields,  recoils,  and  so  forms  the  most  perfect  spring; 
admirably  calculated  to  carry  the  head  without  jar,  or  injury  of  any  kind. 

The  most  unhappy  illustration  of  all  this  is  the  condition  of  old  age. 
The  tables  of  the  skull  are  then  consolidated,  and  the  spine  is  rigid:  if  an 
old  man  should  fall  with  his  head  upon  the  carpet,  the  blow,  which  would 
be  of  no  consequence  to  the  elastic  frame  of  a child,  may  to  him  prove 
fatal;  and  the  rigidity  of  the  spine  makes  every  step  which  he  takes,  vi- 
brate to  the  interior  of  the  head,  and  jar  on  the  brain. 

We  have  hinted  at  a comparison  between  the  attachment  of  the  spine 
to  the  pelvis  and  the  insertion  of  the  mast  of  a ship  into  the  hull.  7'he 
mast  goes  directly  through  the  decks  without  touching  them,  and  the  heel 
of  the  mast  goes  into  the  step,  which  is  formed  of  large  solid  pieces  of 
oak  timber  laid  across  the  keelson.  The  keelson  is  an  inner  keel  resting 
upon  the  floor-timbers  of  the  ship  and  directly  over  the  proper  keel. 
These  are  contrivances  for  enlarging  the  base  on  which  the  mast  resk- 
as  a column;  for  as,  in  proportion  to  the  height  and  weight  of  a column, 
its  base  must  be  enlarged,  or  it  would  sink  into  the  earth;  so,  if  the  mast 
were  to  bear  upon  a point,  it  would  break  through  the  bottom  of  the 
ship. 

The  mast  is  supported  upright  by  the  shrouds  and  stays.  The  slirouds 
secure  it  against  the  lateral  or  rolling  motion,  and  the  stays  and  backstays 
against  the  pitching  of  the  ship.  These  form  what  is  termed  the  standing 
rigging. 

The  mast  d(»es  not  bear  upon  the  deck  or  on  the  beams  of  the  ship;  in- 
deed there  is  iC  space  cover v.‘4  with  canvass  between  the  deck  and  the 
mas* 


IN  THE  HUMA.I  FRAME. 


61 


siderably  varied;  but  with  a strict  reference  to  the  conveni- 
ency  of  the  animal.  [PI.  IX.  fig.  3,  4,  5]  For,  whereas  in 

We  often  hear  of  a new  ship  going  to  sea  to  stretch  her  rigging;  that 
IS,  to  permit  the  shrouds  and  stays  to  be  stretched  by  the  motion  of  the 
ship,  after  which  they  are  again  braced  tight;  for  if  she  were  overtaken 
by  a storm  before  this  operation,  and  when  the  stays  and  shrouds  were 
relaxed,  the  mast  would  lean  against  the  upper  deck,  by  which  it  would 
be  sprung  or  carried  away.  Indeed,  the  greater  proportion  of  masts  that 
are  lost  are  lost  in  this  manner.  There  are  no  boats  which  keep  the  sea 
in  such  storms  as  those  which  navigate  the  gulf  of  Finland.  Their  masts 
are  not  attached  at  all  to  the  hull  of  the  ship,  but  simply  rest  upon  the 
step. 

Although  the  spine  has  not  a strict  resemblance  to  the  mast,  the  con  • 
trivances  of  the  ship-builder,  however  different  from  the  provisions  of  na- 
ture, show  what  object  is  to  be  attained;  and  when  we  are  thus  made 
aware  of  what  is  necessary  to  the  security  of  a column  on  a moveable 
base,  we  are  prepared  to  appreciate  the  superior  provisions  of  nature  for 
giving  security  to^he  human  spine. 

The  human  spine  rests  on  what  is  called  the  pelvis^  or  basin; — a circle 
of  bones,  of  which  the  haunches  are  the  extreme  lateral  parts;  and  the  sa- 
crum (which  is  the  keystone  of  the  arch)  may  be  felt  at  the  lower  part 
of  the  back.  To  this  central  bone  of  the  arch  of  the  pelvis  the  spine  is 
connected;  and^  taking  the  similitude  of  the  mast,  the  sacrum  is  as  the 
step  on  which  the  base  of  the  pillar,  like  the  heel  of  the  mast,  is  socket- 
ed or  morticed.  The  spine  is  tied  to  the  lateral  parts  of  the  pelvis  by 
powerful  ligaments,  which  may  be  compared  to  the  shrouds.  They  se- 
cure the  lower  part  of  the  spine  against  the  shock  of  lateral  motion  or 
rolling;  but,  instead  of  the  stays  to  limit  the  play  of  the  spine  forwards 
and  backwards  in  pitching,  or  to  adjust  the  rake  of  the  mast,  there  is  a 
very  beautiful  contrivance  in  the'lower  part  of  the  column. 

The  spine  forms  here  a semicircle  which  has  this  effect;  that  whether 
by  the  exertion  of  the  lower  extremities,  the  spine  is  to  be  carried  forward 
upon  the  pelvis,  or  whether  the  body  stops  suddenly  in  running,  the  jar 
which  would  necessarily  take  place  at  the  lower  part  of  the  spine,  if  it 
stood  upright  like  a mast,  is  distributed  over  several  of  the  bones  of  the 
spine;  and,  therefore,  the  chance  of  injury  at  any  particular  part  is  di- 
minished. 

For  example,  the  sacrum,  or  centre  bone  of  the  pelvis,  being  carried 
forward,  as  when  one  is  about  to  run,  the  force  is  communicated  to  the 
lowest  bone  of  the  spine.  But,  then,  the  surfaces  of  these  bones  stand 
with  a very  slight  degree  of  obliquity  to  the  line  of  motion;  the  shock 
communicated  from  the  lower  to  the  second  bone  of  the  vertebrae  is  still  in 
a direction  very  nearly  perpendicular  to  its  surface  of  contact.  The  same 
takes  place  in  the  communication  of  force  from  the  second  to  the  third, 
and  from  the  third  to  the  fourth;  so  that  before  the  shock  of  the  horizontal 
motion  acts  upon  the  perpendicular  spine,  it  is  distributed  over  four  bones 
of  that  column,  instead  of  the  whole  force  being  concentrated  upon  the 
joining  of  any  two. 

If  the  column  stood  upright,  it  would  be  jarred  at  the  lowest  point  of 
contact  with  its  base.  But  by  forming  a semicircle,  the  motion  would 
produce  a jar  on  the  very  lowest  part  of  the  column,  and  which  is  distrib- 
uted over  a considerable  portion  of  the  column;  and  in  point  rf  fact,  this 
part  of  the  spine  never  gives  way.  Indeed,  we  should  be  inclined  to  of- 

F 


62 


OF  MECHANICAL  ARRANGEMENT 


quadrupeds  the  number  of  vertebrae  is  from  thirty  o forty 
in  the  serpent  it  is  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  where- 
as in  men  and  quadrupeds  the  surfaces  of  the  bones  are 
flat,  and  these  flat  surfaces  laid  one  against  the  other,  and 
bound  tight  by  sinews;  in  the  serpent  the  bones  play  one 
within  another  like  a ball  and  socket,*  so  that  they  have 
a free  motion  upon  one  another  in  every  direction ; that  is 
to  say,  in  men  and  quadrupeds,  firmness  is  more  consulted; 
In  seipents,  pliancy.  Yet  even  pliancy  is  not  obtained  at 
the  expense  of  safety.  The  backbone  of  a serpent,  for 
coherence  and  flexibility,  is  one  of  the  most  curious  pieces 
of  animal  mechanism  with  which  we  are  acquainted.  The 
chain  of  a watch,  (I  mean  the  chain  which  passes  between 
the  spring-barrel  and  the  fusee,)  which  aims  at  the  same 
properties,  is  but  a bungling  piece  of  workmanship  in  com- 
parison with  that  of  which  we  speak. ^ 

IV.  The  reciprocal  enlargement  and  contraction  of  the 
chest  to  allow  for  the  play  of  the  lungs,  depends  upon  a 
simple  yet  beautiful  mechanical  contrivance,  referrible  to 
the  structure  of  the  bones  which  enclose  it.  [PI.  X.  fig.  1 ] 
The  ribs  are  articulated  to  the  backbone,  or  rather  to  its  side 

fer  this  model  to  the  consideration  of  nautical  men,  as  fruitful  in  hints 
for  improving  naval  architecture. 

Every  one  who  has  seen  a ship  pitching  in  a heavy  sea,  must  have 
asked  himself  why  the  masts  are  not  upright,  or  rather,  w^hy  the  fore  mast 
stands  upright,  whilst  the  main  and  mizzen  masts  stand  oblique  to  the  deck 
or,  as  the  phrase  is,  rake  aft  or  towards  the  stern  of  the  ship. 

The  main  and  mizzen  masts  incline  backwards,  because  the  strain  is 
greatest  in  the  forward  pitch  of  the  vessel ; for  the  mast  having  received 
an  impulse  forwards,  it  is  suddenly  checked  as  the  head  of  the  ship  rises; 
but  the  mast  being  set  with  an  inclination  backwards,  the  motion  falls 
more  in  a perpendicular  line  from  the  head  to  the  heel.  This  advantage 
is  lost  in  the  upright  position  of  the  foremast,  but  it  is  sacrificed  to  a supe- 
rior advantage  gained  in  working  the  ship;  the  sails  upon  this  mast  act 
more  powerfully  in  swaying  the  vessel  round,  and  the  perpendicular  posi- 
tion causes  the  ship  to  tack  or  stay  better;  but  the  perpendicular  position, 
as  we  have  seen,  causes  the  strain  in  pitching  to  come  at  right  angles  to 
the  mast,  and  is,  therefore,  irore  apt  to  spring. 

These  considerations  give  an  interest  to  the  fact,  that  the  human  spine, 
from  its  utmost  convexity  near  its  base,  inclines  backwards.” — BelVs 
Treatise  on  Animal  Mechanics, 

* Der.  Phys.  Theol.  p.  396. 

+ In  fish,  which  have  more  elastic,  but  less  flexible  bodies,  the  structure 
of  the  spine  differs.  The  end  of  each  vertebra  is  a cup  containing  u viscid 
fluid,  which  keeps  the  bones  from  approaching  nearer  to  each  other  than 
the  mean  state  of  the  elasticity  of  the  lateral  ligaments  ; the  fluid  is  in- 
compressible, therefore  forms  a ball  round  which  the  bony  cups  mov*»  ; 
the  ball  having  no  cohesion,  the  centre  of  motion  is  always  adapted  t Jie 
change  which  the  joint  undergoes  without  producing  friction. — Pac  jn. 


IN  THE  HUMAN  FRAME. 


63 


projections  obliquely:*  that  is,  in  their  natural  position,  they 
bend  or  slope  from  the  place  of  articulation  downwards 
But  the  basis  upon  which  they  rest  at  this  end  being  fixed 
the  conseauence  of  the  obliquity,  or  the  inclination  down- 
wards, is,  that  when  they  come  to  move,  whatever  pulls 
the  ribs  upwards,  necessarily,  at  the  sam.e  time,  draws 
them  out;  and  that,  whilst  the  ribs  are  brought  to  a right 
angle  with  the  spine  behind,  the  sternum,  or  part  of  the 
chest  to  which  they  are  attached  in  front,  is  thrust  forward. 
The  simple  action,  the"  efore,  of  the  elevating  muscles  does 
the  business;  whereas,  if  the  ribs  had  been  articulated  with 
the  bodies  of  the  vertebrse  at  right  angles,  the  cavity  of  the 
thorax  could  never  haye  been  farther  enlarged  by  a change 
of  their  position.  If  each  rib  had  been  a rigid  bone,  ar- 
ticulated at  both  ends  to  fixed  bases,  the  whole  chest  had 
been  immoveable.  Keill  has  observed,  that  the  breastbone 
in  an  easy  inspiration,  is  thrust  out  one-tenth  of  an  inch* 
and  he  calculates  that  this,  added  to  what  is  gained  to  the 
space  within  the  chest  by  the  flattening  or  descent  of  the 
diaphragm,  leaves  room  for  forty-two  cubic  inches  of  air  to 
enter  at  every  drawing-in  of  the  breath.  When  there  is  a 
necessity  for  a deeper  and  more  laborious  inspiration,  the 
enlargement  of  the  capacity  of  the  chest  may  be  so  increas- 
ed by  effort,  as  that  the  lungs  may  be  distended  with  seventy 
or  a hundred  such  cubic  inches.  | The  thorax,  says  Schel- 
hammer,  forms  a kind  of  bellows,  such  as  never  have  been^ 
nor  probably  will  made  by  any  artiflcer.J 

* For  the  mode  of  articulation  of  the  ribs  with  the  vertebrae,  see  Plate 
IX.  Fig.  1 and  2. 

t Anat.  p.  229. 

t The  thorax,  or  chest,  is  composed  of  bones  and  cartilages,  so  dis- 
posed as  to  sustain  and  protect  the  most  vital  parts,  the  heart  and  lungs, 
and  to  turn  and  twist  with  perfect  facility  in  every  motion  of  the  body; 
and  to  be  in  incessant  motion  in  the  act  of  respiration,  without  a moment’s 
interval  during  a whole  life.  In  anatomical  description,  the  thorax  is 
formed  of  the  v^ertebral  column,  or  spine,  on  the  back  part,  the  ribs  on 
either  side,  and  the  breastbone,  or  sternum,  on  the  fore  part.  But  the 
thing  most  to  be  admired  is  the  manner  in  which  these  bones  are  united, 
and  especially  the  manner  in  which  the  ribs  are  joined  to  the  breastbone, 
by  the  interposition  of  cartilages,  or  gristle,  of  a substance  softer  than 
bone,  and  more  elastic  and  yielding.  By  this  quality  they  are  fitted  for 
protecting  the  chest  against  the  effects  of  violence,  and  even  for  sustaining 
life  after  the  muscular  power  of  respiration  has  become  too  feeble  to  con- 
tinue without  this  support. 

If  the  ribs  were  complete  circles,  formed  of  bone,  and  extending  from 
the  spine  to  the  breastbone,  life  would  be  endangered  by  any  accidental 
f-acture;  and  even  the  rubs  and  jolts  to  which  the  human  frame  is  con 
t>  lually  exposed,  *muld  be  too  much  for  their  delicate  and  brittle  texture 


64 


OF  MECHANICAL  ARRAN(?EMENT 


V The  patella,  or  kneepan  is  a curious  little  bone;  iu 
its  form  and  office,  unlike  any  other  bone  of  the  body.  [PI. 
X.  fig.  2,  3.]  It  is  circular:  the  size  of  a crown  piece; 
pretty  thick;  a little  convex  on  both  sides,  and  covered  with 
a smooth  cartilage.  It  lies  upon  the  front  of  the  knee:  and 
the  powerful  tendons,  by  which  the  leg  is  brought  forward, 
pass  into  it,  (or  rather  it  makes  a part  of  their  continu- 
ation,) from  their  origin  in  the  thigh  to  their  insertion  in 

Ouf  these  evils  .ire  avoided  by  the  interposition  of  the  elastic  cartilage. 
On  their  fore  part  the  ribs  are  eked  out,  and  joined  to  the  breastbone  by 
neans  of  cartilages,  of  a form  corresponding  to  that  of  the  ribs,  being,  as 
it  were,  a completion  of  the  arch  of  the  rib,  by  a substance  more  adapted 
to  yield  in  every  shock  or  motion  of  the  body.  The  elasticity  of  this 
portion  subdues  those  shocks  which  would  occasion  the  breaking  of  the 
ribs.  We  lean  forward,  or  to  one  side,  and  the  ribs  accommodate 
themselves,  not  by  a change  of  form  in  the  bones,  but  by  the  bending  or 
elasticity  of  the  cartilages.  A severe  blow  upon  the  ribs  does  not  break 
them,  because  their  extremities  recoil  and  yield  to  the  violence.  It  is  only 
in  youth,  however,  when  the  human  frame  is  in  perfection,  that  this  pli- 
ancy and  elasticity  have  full  effect.  When  old  age  approaches,  the  car- 
tilages of  the  ribs  become  bony.  They  attach  themselves  firmly  to  the 
breastbone,  and  the  extremities  of  the  ribs  are  fixed,  as  if  the  whole  arch 
were  formed  of  bone  unyielding  and  inelastic.  Then  every  violent  blow 
upon  the  side  is  attended  with  fracture  of  the  rib,  an  accident  seldom  oc- 
curring in  childhood,  or  in  youth. 

But  there  is  a purpose  still  more  important  to  be  accomplished  by 
means  of  the  elastic  structure  of  the  ribs,  as  partly  formed  of  cartilage. 
This  is  in  the  action  of  breathing,  or  respiration;  especially  in  the  more 
lighly-raised  respiration  which  is  necessary  in  great  exertions  of  bodily 
strength,  and  in  violent  exercise.  There  are  two  acts  of  breathing — ex~ 
viration,  or  the  sending  forth  of  the  breath  ; and  inspiration,  or  the 
drawing  in  of  the  breath.  When  the  chest  is  at  rest,  it  is  neither  in  a 
state  of  expiration  nor  in  that  of  inspiration  ; it  is  in  an  intermediate  con- 
dition between  these  two  acts.  And  the  muscular  effort  by  which  either 
inspiration  or  expiration  is  produced,  is  an  act  in  opposition  to  the  elastic 
property  of  the  ribs.  The  property  of  the  ribs  is  to  preserve  the  breast  in 
the  intermediate  state  between  expiration  and  inspiration.  The  muscles 
of  respiration  are  excited  alternately,  to  dilate  or  to  contract  the  cavity 
of  the  chest,  and,  in  doing  so,  to  raise  or  to  depress  the  ribs.  Hence  it 
is,  that  both  in  inspiration  and  in  expiration  the  elasticity  of  the  ribs  is 
called  into  play;  and,  were  it  within  our  province,  it  would  be  easy  to 
show,  that  the  dead  power  of  the  cartilages  of  the  ribs  preserve  life  by 
respiration,  after  the  vital  muscular  power  would,  without  such  assistance, 
be  too  weak  to  continue  life. 

It  will  at  once  be  understood,  from  what  has  now  been  explained,  how, 
in  age,  violent  exercise  or  exertion,  is  under  restraint,  in  so  far  as  it  de- 
pends on  respiration.  The  elasticity  of  the  cartilages  is  gone,  the  circle 
of  the  ribs  is  now  unyielding,  and  will  not  allow  that  high  breathing,  that 
sudden  and  great  dilating  and  contracting  of  the  cavity  of  the  chest,  which 
is  required  for  circulating  tlie  blood  through  the  lungs,  and  relieving  the 
heart  amidst  the  more  tumultuous  flowing  of  the  blood  which  exorcise 
and  exertioi  produce. — Bell's  Treatise  on  Animal  Mechanics. 


IN  THE  HUMAN  FRAME. 


65 


tht  Hbia.  It  protects  both  the  tendon  and  the  joint  from 
any  injury  which  either  might  suffer  by  the  rubbing  of  one 
against  the  other,  or  by  the  pressure  of  unequal  surfaces. 
It  also  gives  to  the  tendons  a very  considerable  mechan- 
ical advantage,  by  altering  the  line  of  their  direction,  and 
by  advancing  it  farther  out  from  the  centre  of  motion;  and 
this  upon  the  principles  of  the  resolution  of  force,  upon 
which  principles  all  machinery  is  founded.  These  are  its 
uses.  But  what  is  most  observable  in  it  is,  that  it  appears 
to  be  supplemental,  as  it  were,  to  the  frame;  added,  as  it 
should  almost  seem,  afterward;  not  quite  necessary,  but 
very  convenient.  It  is  separate  from  the  other  bones;  that 
is,  it  is  not  connected  with  any  other  bones  by  the  com- 
mon mode  of  union.  It  is  soft,  or  hardly  formed,  in  infan- 
cy; and  produced  by  an  ossification,  of  the  inception  or 
progress  of  which  no  account  can  be  given  from  the  struct- 
ure or  exercise  of  the  part. 

VI.  The  shoulder-blade  is,  in  some  material  respects,  a 
very  singular  bone:  appearing  to  be  made  so  expressly 
for  its  own  purpose,  and  so  independently  of  every  other 
reason.  [PI.  X.  fig.  4.]  In  such  quadrupeds  as  have  no 
collar-bones,  which  are  by  far  the  greater  number,  the 
shoulder-blade  has  no  bony  communication  with  the  trunk, 
either  by  a joint,  or  process,  or  in  any  other  way.  It  does 
not  grow  to,  or  out  of,  any  other  bone  of  the  trunk.  It 
does  not  apply  to  any  other  bone  of  the  trunk ; (I  know  not 
whether  this  be  true  of  any  second  bone  in  the  body,  ex- 
cept perhaps  the  os  hyoVdes.)  [PI.  X.  fig.  5.]  In  strict- 
ness, it  forms  no  part  of  the  skeleton.  It  is  bedded  in  the 
flesh;  attached  only  to  the  muscles.  It  is  no  other  than  a 
foundation  bone  for  the  arm,  laid  in  separate,  as  it  were, 
and  distinct,  from  the  general  ossifica.tion.  The  lower 
limbs  connect  themselves  at  the  hip  with  bones  which  form 
a part  of  the  skeleton;  but  this  connexion,  in  the  upper 
limbs,  being  wanted,  a basis,  whereupon  the  arm  might 
be  articulated,  was  to  be  supplied  by  a detached  ossifica- 
tion for  the  purpose. 

I.  The  above  are  a few  examples  of  bones  made  re- 
markable by  their  configuration:  but  to  almost  all  the 
bones  belong  joints;  and  in  these,  still  more  clearly  than 
in  the  form  or  shape  of  the  bones  themselves,  are  seen 
both  contrivance  and  contriving  wisdom.  Every  joint  is  a 
curiosity,  and  is  also  strictly  mechanical.  There  is  the 
hinge-joint,  and  the  mortice  and  tenon  joint;  each  as 
manifestly  suen,  and  as  accurately  defined,  as  any  which 
can  be  produced  out  of  a cabinet-maker’s  shop;  and  one 

F* 


66 


OF  MECHANICAL  ARRANGEMENT 


O’*  the  other  prevails,  as  either  is  adapted  to  the  motion 
which  is  wanted:  e.  g.  a mortice  and  tenon,  or  ball  and 
socket  joint,  is  no^  .;^quired  at  the  knee,  the  leg  standing 
in  need  only  of  t motion  backward  and  forward  in  the 
same  plane,  for  which  a hinge-joint  is  sufficient;  a mortice 
and  tenon,  o ; ball  and  socket  joint,  is  wanted  at  the  hip, 
that  not  only  the  progressive  step  may  be  provided  for,  but 
the  interval  between  the  limbs  may  be  enlarged  or  contract- 
ed at  pleasure.  Now,  observe,  what  would  have  been  the 
inconveniency,  i.  e.  both  the  superfluity  and  the  defect  of 
articulation,  if  the  case  had  been  inverted:  if  the  ball  and 
socket  joint  had  been  at  the  knee,  and  the  hinge-joint  at 
the  hip.  The  thighs  must  have  been  kept  constantly  to- 
gether, and  the  legs  have  been  loose  and  straddling.  There 
would  have  been  no  use,  that  we  know  of,  in  being  able  to 
turn  the  calves  of  the  legs  before;  and  there  would  have 
been  great  confinement  by  restraining  the  motion  of  the 
thighs  to  one  plane.  The  disadvantage  would  not  have 
been  less,  if  the  joints  at  the  hip  and  the  knee  had  been 
both  of  the  same  sort;  both  balls  and  sockets,  or  both  hin- 
ges: yet  why,  independently  of  utility,  and  of  a Creator 
who  consulted  that  utility,  should  the  same  bone  (the 
thigh-bone)  be  rounded  at  one  end,  and  channelled  at  the 
other  ? 

The  hinge-joint  is  not  formed  by  a bolt  passing  through 
the  two  parts  of  the  hinge,  and  thus  keeping  them  in  their 
places;  but  by  a different  expedient.  A strong,  tough, 
parchment-like  membrane,  rising  from  the  receiving  bones, 
and  inserted  all  round  the  received  bones  a little  below 
their  heads,  encloses  the  joint  on  every  side.  This  mem- 
brane ties,  confines,  and  holds  the  ends  of  the  bones  to- 
gether; keeping  the  corresponding  parts  of  the  joint,  i.  e. 
the  relative  convexities  and  concavities,  in  close  application 
o each  other.^ 

For  the  ball  and  soclcet  joint ^ beside  the  membrane  al- 
ready described,  there  is  in  one  important  joint,  as  an 
additional  security,  a short,  strong,  yet  flexible  ligament, 
inserted  by  one  end  into  the  head  of  the  ball,  by  the  other 

* This  membrane  is  the  capsnla?',  or  hin'sal  ligament,  common  to 
every  movable  joint.  It  certainly  connects  the  hones  togetlier,  hut  does 
not  possess  much  strength;  its  chief  use  is  to  produce  and  preserve  the 
synovia  in  the  part  where  it  is  required.  "J'he  security  and  strength  of 
the  hinge-joint  depends  on  certain  ligaments  c;dled  lateral  ligaments,  and 
the  endons  of  those  muscles  which  pass  over  it.  In  the  particular  in 
stance  of  the  knee,  from  its  being  the  largest  joint  in  the  body,  there  is, 
a?  we  shall  presently  find,  an  additiona  contrivance  to  prevent  dislocalioru 

Paxton, 


IN  THE  HUIIAN  PRAME 


67 


into  1)3  bottom  of  the  cup;  which  ligament  keeps  the 
two  parts  of  the  joint  so  firmly  in  their  place,  that  none  of 
the  motions  which  the  limb  naturally  performs,  none  of  the 
jerks  and  twists  to  which  it  is  ordinarily  liable,  nothing 
less  indeed  than  the  utmost  and  the  most  unnatural  vio- 
lence, can  pull  them  asunder  [PL  XI.  fig.  1.]  It  is 
hardly  imaginable,  how  great  a force  is  necessary,  even 
to  stretch,  still  more  to  break,  this  ligament;  yet  so  flexible 
s it,  as  to  oppose  no  impediment  to  the  suppleness  of  the 
joint  * By  its  situation  also,  it  is  inaccessible  to  injury 
from  sharp  edges.  As  it  cannot  be  ruptured,  (such  is  its 
strength,)  so  it  caTinot  be  cut,  except  by  an  accident  which 
would  sever  the  limb.  If  I had  been  permitted  to  frame  a 
proof  of  contrivance,  such  as  might  satisfy  the  most  dis- 
trustful inquirer,  I know  not  Avhether  I could  have  chosen 
an  example  of  mechanism  more  unequivocal,  or  more  free 
from  objection,  than  this  ligament.  Nothing  can  be  more 
mechanical;  nothing,  however  subservient  to  the  safety, 
less  capable  of  being  generated  by  the  action  of  the  joint. 
I would  particularly  solicit  the  reader’s  attention  to  this 
provision,  as  it  is  found  in  the  head  of  the  thigh-bone ; to 
its  strength,  its  structure,  and  its  use.  It  is  an  instance 
upon  which  I lay  my  hand.  One  single  fact,  weighed  by 
a mind  in  earnest,  leaves  oftentimes  the  deepest  impres- 
sion. For  the  purpose  of  addressing  different  understand- 
ings and  different  apprehensions — for  the  purpose  of  senti- 
ment, for  the  purpose  of  exciting  admiration  of  the  Crea- 
tor’s works,  we  diversify  our  views,  we  multiply  examples; 
but  for  the  purpose  of  strict  argument,  one  clear  instance 
is  sufficient;  and  not  only  sufficient,  but  capable,  perhaps, 
of  generating  a firmer  assurance  than  what  can  arise  from 
a divided  attention. 

The  ginglymuSj  or  hinge-joint,  does  not,  it  is  manifest, 
admit  of  a ligament  of  the  same  kind  with  that  of  the  ball 
and  socket  joint,  but  it  is  always  fortified  by  the  species  ol 
dgament  of  which  it  does  admit.  The  strong,  firm,  invest- 
ing membrane,  above  described,  accompanies  it  in  every 
part;  and  in  particular  joints,  this  membrane,  which  is 
properly  a ligament,  is  considerably  stronger  on  the  sides 
than  either  before  or  behind,  in  order  that  the  convexities 
may  play  true  in  their  concavities,  and  not  be  subject  to 
slip  sideways,  which  is  the  chief  danger;  for  the  muscular 

* This  ligament  is  also  common  to  all  quadrupeds,  even  in  the  more 
large  and  unwieldy,  as  the  Hippopotamus  and  Rhinoceros — it  is  wanting 
in  the  elephant  only,  whose  limbs,  ill  qualified  for  active  movements,  do 
not  seem  to  require  this  security  to  the  joint. — Paxton, 


68 


OF  MECHANICAL  ARRAN Gi<.MENT 


tendons  generally  restrain  the  parts  from  going  farther 
than  they  ought  to  go  in  the  plane  ol  their  motion.  In  the 
knee^  which  is  a joint  of  this  form,  of  great  importance, 
there  are  superadded  to  the  corrmon  provisions  for  the 
stability  of  the  joint,  two  strong  ligaments  which  cross 
each  other;  and  cross  each  other  in  such  a manner,  as  to 
secure  the  joint  from  being  displaced  in  any  assignable  di- 
rection. [PI.  XI.  fig.  ^.]  ‘‘I  think, says  Cheselden, 

‘‘that  the  knee  cannot  be  completely  dislocated  without 
breaking  the  cross  ligaments.”*  We  can  hardly  help  com- 
paring this  with  the  binding  up  of  a fracture,  where  the  fil- 
let is  almost  always  strapped  across,  for  the  sake  of  giving 
firmness  and  strength  to  the  bandage. 

Another  no  less  important  joint,  and  that  also  of  the  gin- 
glymus  sort,  is  the  ankle;  yet,  though  important,  (in  order, 
perhaps,  to  preserve  the  symmetry  and  lightness  of  the 
limb,)  small,  and,  on  that  account,  more  liable  to  injury. 
[PI.  XI.  fig  4.]  Now  this  joint  is  strengthened,  i.  c.  is 
defended  from  dislocation,  by  two  remarkable  processes  or 
prolongations  of  the  bones  of  the  leg:  which  processes  form 
the  protuberances  that  we  call  the  inner  and  outer  ankle. 
It  is  part  of  each  bone  going  down  lower  than  the  other 
part,  and  thereby  overlapping  the  joint:  so  that,  if  the 
joint  be  in  danger  of  slipping  outward,  it  is  curbed  by  the 
inner  projection,  i.  e.  that  of  the  tibia;  if  inward,  by  the 
outer  projection,  i.  e.  that  of  the  fibula.  Between  both,  it 
is  locked  in  its  position.  I know  no  account  that  can  be 
given  of  this  structure,  except  its  utility.  Why  should  the 
tibia  terminate,  at  its  lower  extremity,  with  a double  end, 
and  the  fibula  the  same,  but  to  barricade  the  joint  on  both 
sides  by  a continuation  of  part  of  the  thickest  of  the  bone 
over  it  ? | 

* Ches.  Anat.  ed.  7th,  p.  45. 

t The  most  obvious  proof  of  contrivance  is  the  junction  of  the  fcoi  to 
the  bones  of  the  leg  at  the  ankle-joint.  The  two  bones  of  the  leg,  called 
the  tibia  and  the  fibula,  receive  the  great  articulating  hone  of  the  foot 
(the  astragalus)  between  them.  And  the  extremities  of  these  bones  of 
the  leg  project  so  as  to  form  the  outer  and  inner  ankle.  Now,  when  we 
step  forward,  and  whilst  the  foot  is  raised,  it  rolls  easily  upon  the  ends 
of  these  bones,  so  that  the  toe  may  be  directed  according  to  the  inequali- 
ties of  the  ground  we  are  to  tread  upon;  but  when  the  foot  is  planted, 
and  the  body  is  carried  forward  perpendicularly  over  the  foot,  the  joint 
of  the  leg  and  foot  becomes  fixed,  and  we  have  a steady  base  to  rest  upon. 
We  next  observe,  that,  in  walking,  the  heel  first  touches  the  ground.  If 
the  bones  of  the  leg  were  perpendicular  over  the  part  which  first  touches 
the  ground,  we  should  come  down  with  a sudden  jolt,  instead  of  which 
M 5 desi:end  in  a semicircle,  the  centre  of  which  is  the  point  of  the  heel. 

And  when  the  toes  have  come  to  the  ground  we  are  far  from  losing  iho 


IN  THE  HUMAN  FRAME. 


69 


The  joint  at  the  shoulder  compared  with  the  joint  at  the 
though  both  ball  and  socket  joints,  discovers  a difTer- 
ence  in  their  form  and  proportions,  well  suited  to  the  dif- 
ferent offices  which  the  limbs  have  to  execute.  The  cup 
or  socket  at  the  shoulder  is  much  shallower  and  flatter 
than  it  is  at  the  hip,  and  is  also  in  part  formed  of  cartilage 
set  round  the  rim  of  the  cup.  The  socket,  into  which  the 
head  of  the  thigh-bone  is  inserted,  is  deeper,  and  made 
of  more  solid  materials."*  This  agrees  with  the  duties  as- 

advantages  of  the  structure  of  the  foot,  since  we  stand  upon  an  elastic 
Arch,  the  hinder  extremity  of  which  is  tjje  heel,  and  the  anterior  the  balls 
cf  the  toes.  A finely  formed  foot  should  be  high  in  the  instep.  The 
walk  of  opera  dancers  is  neither  natural  nor  beautiful ; but  the  surprising 
exercises  which  they  perform  give  to  the  joints  of  the  foot  a freedom  of 
motion  almost  like  that  of  the  hand.  We  have  seen  the  dancers,  in  their 
morning  exercises,  stand  for  twenty  minutes  on  the  extremities  of  their 
toes,  after  which  the  effort  is  to  bend  the  inner  ankle  down  to  the  floor, 
in  preparation  for  the  Bolero  step.  By  such  unnatural  postures  and  ex- 
ercises the  foot  is  made  unfit  for  walking,  as  may  be  observed  in  any  of 
the  retired  dancers  and  o\d.  figurantes.  By  standing  so  much  upon  the 
toes,  the  human  foot  is  converted  to  something  more  resembling  that  of  a 
quadruped,  where  the  heel  never  reaches  the  ground,  and  where  the  paw 
is  nothing  more  than  the  phalanges  of  the  toes. 

This  arch  of  the  foot,  from  the  heel  to  the  toe,  has  the  astragalus,  re- 
sembling the  keystone  of  an  arch;  but,  instead  of  being  fixed,  as  in  ma- 
sonry, it  plays  freely  between  two  bones,  and  from  these  two  bones,  a 
strong  elastic  ligament  is  extended,  on  which  the  bone  rests,  sinking  oi 
rising  as  the  weight  of  the  body  bears  upon  it,  or  is  taken  off,  and  this  it 
is  enabled  to  do  by  the  action  of  the  ligament  which  runs  under  it. 

This  is  the  same  elastic  ligament  which  runs  extensively  along  the  back 
of  the  horse’s  hind  leg  and  foot,  and  gives  the  fine  spring  to  it,  but  whicir 
.s  sometimes  ruptured  by  the  exertion  of  the  animal  in  a leap,  producin^i 
irrecoverable  lameness. 

Having  understood  that  the  arch  of  the  foot  is  perfect  from  the  heel  tr 
the  toe,  we  have  next  to  observe,  that  there  is  an  arch  from  side  to  side 
for  when  a transverse  section  is  made  of  the  bones  of  the  foot,  the  ex 
posed  surface  presents  a perfect  arch  of  wedges,  regularly  formed  like  thf 
stones  of  an  arch  in  masonry.  If  we  look  down  upon  the  bones  of  the 
foot,  we  shall  see  that  they  form  a complete  circle  horizontally,  leaving 
a space  in  their  centre.  These  bones  thus  form  three  different  arches-- 
forward;  across;  and  horizontally:  they  are  wedged  together,  and  bound 
by  ligaments,  and  this  is  what  we  alluded  to  when  we  said  that  the  foun 
dalions  of  the  Edd\ stone  were  not  laid  on  a better  principle;  but  our  ad 
Tiiration  is  more  excited  in  observing,  that  the  bones  of  the  foot  are  not 
only  wedged  together,  like  the  courses  of  stone  for  resistance,  but  tliat 
s»)hJity  is  combined  with  elasticity  and  lightness. 

Notwithstanding  the  mobility  of  the  foot  in  some  positions,  yet  when 
the  weight  of  the  body  bears  directly  over  it,  it  becomes  immovable,  and 
the  bones  of  the  leg  must  be  fractured  before  the  foot  yields. 

BeWs  Treatise  on  .inimal  Mechanics, 

The  socket  for  the  head  of  the  thigh-bone  is  indet  d deeper  than  that 
at  the  shoulder,  bu  ‘.he  “ n^aterials  ” which  form  the  concavities  are  ihe 


70 


OF  MECHANICAL  ARRAR  OEMENT 


signed  to  each  part.  The  arm  is  an  instrument  of  motion, 
principally,  if  aot  solely.  Accordingly  the  shallowness  of 
the  socket  at  the  shoulder,  and  yieldingness  of  the  car- 
tilaginous substance  with  which  its  edge  is  set  round,  and 
which  in  fact  composes  a considerable  part  of  its  concavi- 
ty, are  excellently  adapted  for  the  allowance  of  a free  mo- 
tion and  a wide  range;  both  which  the  arm  wants. 
Wiiereas,  the  lower  limb,  forming  a part  of  the  column  of 
the  body;  having  to  support  the  body,  as  well  as  to  be  the 
means  of  its  locomotion;  firmness  v^as  to  be  consulted,  as 
well  as  action.  With  a capacity  for  motion,  in  all  direc- 
tions indeed,  as  at  the  shoulder,  but  not  in  any  direction 
to  the  same  extent  as  in  the  arm,  was  to  be  united  stabili- 
ty, or  resistance  to  dislocation.  Hence  the  deeper  excava- 
.ion  of  the  socket;  and  the  pi;esence  of  a less  proportion 
of  cartilage  upon  the  edge. 

The  suppleness  and  pliability  of  the  joints  we  every 
moment  experience;  and  the  firmness  of  animal  articu- 
lation, the  property  we  have  hitherto  been  considering, 
may  be  judged  of  from  this  single  observation,  that,  at 
any  given  moment  of  time,  there  are  millions  of  animal 
joints  in  complete  repair  and  use,  for  one  that  is  disloca- 
ted; and  this,  notwithstanding  the  contortions  and  wrench- 
es to  which  the  limbs  of  animals  are  continually  subject. 

II.  The  jointSy  or  rather  the  ends  of  the  bones  which 
form  them,  display  also,  in  their  configuration,  another  use. 
The  nerves,  blood-vessels,  and  tendons,  which  are  neces- 
sary to  the  life,  or  for  the  motion  of  the  limbs,  must,  it  is 
evident,  in  their  way  from  the  trunk  of  the  body  to  the 
place  of  their  destination,  travel  over  the  movable  joints; 
and  it  is  no  less  evident,  that,  in  this  part  of  their  course, 
they  will  have,  from  sudden  motions,  and  from  abrupt 
changes  of  curvature,  to  encounter  the  danger  of  compres- 
sion, attrition,  or  laceration.  To  guard  fibres  so  tender 
against  consequences  so  injurious,  their  path  is  in  those 
parts  protected  with  peculiar  care;  and  that  by  a provision 
in  the  figure  of  the  bones  themselves.  The  nerves  which 
supply  the  fore-arm,  especially  the  inferior  cubital  nerves, 
are  at  the  elbow  conducted,  by  a kind  of  covered  way,  be- 
tween the  condyles,  or  rather  under  the  inner  cxtuberances 
of  the  bone,  which  composes  the  upper  part  of. the  arm.* 

8amo;  both  are  solid  bone  covered  by  cartilage,  and  both  have  a rim  of 
a strong  fdno-cartilaginous  texture,  not  only  for  tlic  purpose  of  rendering 
the  socket  deeper,  l)ut  for  preventing  fractures  of  the  rim  in  robust  exer- 
cises, to  which,  were  it  bony,  it  would  bo  very  liable. — Paxton, 
rhes.  An  n 255,  ed.  7th 


IN  THE  HUMAN  FRAME. 


71 


At  the  Imce,  the  extremity  of  the  thigh-bone  is  dwided  by  a 
sinus  or  cleft  into  two  heads  or  protuberances:  and  these 
lioads  on  the  back  part  stand  out  beyond  the  cylinder  of 
the  bone.  Through  the  hollow,  which  lies  between  the 
hind  parts  of  these  two  heads,  that  is  to  say,  under  the 
ham,  between  the  hamstrings,  and  within  the  concave  re- 
cess of  the  bone  formed  by  the  extuberances  on  each  side; 
in  a word,  along  a defile,  between  rocks,  pass  the  greal 
vessels  and  nerves  wiiich  go  to  the  leg.*  Who  led  these 
v essels  by  a road  so  defended  and  so  seeured.^  In  the  joint 
at  the  shoulder,  in  the  edge  of  the  cup  which  receives  the 
head  of  the  bone,  is  a notch  which  is  joined  or  covered  at 
the  top  with  a ligament.  Through  this  hole,  thus  guarded, 
the  blood-vessels  steal  to  their  destination  in  the  arm,  in- 
stead of  mounting  over  the  edge  of  the  concavity. 'f 

III.  In  all  joints,  the  ends  of  the  bones,  which  work 
against  each  other,  are  tipped  with  gristle.  In  the  ball 
and  socket  joint,  the  cup  is  lined,  and  the  ball  capped  with 
it.  The  smooth  surface,  the  elastic  and  unfriable  nature 
of  cartilage,  render  it  of  all  substances  the  most  proper  for 
the  place  and  purpose.  I should,  therefore,  have  pointed 
this  out  amongst  the  foremost  of  the  provisions  which  have 
been  made  in  the  joints  for  the  facilitating  of  their  action, 
had  it  not  been  alleged’  that  cartilage  in  truth  is  only 
nascent  or  imperfect  bone;  and  that  the  bone  in  these 
places  is  kept  soft  and  imperfect,  in  consequence  of  a more 
complete  and  rigid  ossification  being  prevented  from  taking 
place  by  the  continual  motion  and  rubbing  of  the  surfaces; 
which  being  so,  what  we  represent  as  a designed  advan- 
tage, is  an  unavoidable  effect.  I am  far  from  being  con- 
vinced that  this  is  a true  account  of  the  fact;  or  that,  if  it 
were  so,  it  answers  the  argument.  To  me,  the  surmount- 
ing of  the  ends  of  the  bones  with  gristle,  looks  more  like  a 
plating  with  a different  metal,  than  like  the  same  metal  kept 
in  a different  state  by  the  action  to  which  it  is  exposed 
At  all  events,  we  have  a great  particular  benefit,  though 
arising  from  a general  constitution:  but  this  last  not  being 
quite  what  my  argument  requires,  lest  I should  seem  by 
applying  the  instance  to  overrate  its  value,  I have  thought 
it  fair  to  state  the  question  which  attends  it. 

IV.  In  some  joints,  very  particularly  in  the  knees,  there 
are  loose  cartilages  or  gristles  between  the  bones,  and  with- 
in the  joint,  so  that  the  ends  of  the  bones,  instead  of  work- 
ing upon  one  another,  work  upon  the  intermediate  cartila- 
ges. [PI.  XI.  fig.  3.]  Cheselden  has  observed  J that  the 

* Ches.  An.  p.  35.  t Ib.  30.  $ Ib.  p.  13. 


72 


OF  MECHANICAL  ARRANGEMENT 


contrivance  of  a loose  ring  is  practised  by  mechanics,  where 
the  friction  of  the  joints  of  any  of  their  machines  is  great, 
as  between  the  parts  of  crooked-hinges  of  large  gates,  or 
under  the  head  of  the  male  screw  of  large  vices.  The 
cartilages  of  which  we  speak,  have  very  nmch  of  the  form 
of  these  rings.  The  comparison  moreover  shows  the  rea- 
son why  we  find  them  in  the  knees  rather  than  in  other 
joints.  It  is  an  expedient,  we  have  seen,  which  a mechan- 
ic resorts  to,  only  when  some  strong  and  heavy  work  is  to 
be  done.  So  here  the  thigh  bone  has  to  achieve  its  motion 
at  the  knee,  with  the  whole  weight  of  the  body  pressing 
upon  it,  and  often,  as  in  rising  from  our  seat,  with  the  whole 
weight  of  the  body  to  lift.  It  should  seem  also,  from  Ches- 
eldeifs  account,  that  the  slipping  and  sliding  of  the  loose 
cartilages,  though  it  be  probably  a small  and  obscure 
change,  humored  the  motion  of  the  end  of  the  thigh-bone, 
under  the  particular  configuration  which  was  necessary  to 
be  given  to  it  for  the  commodious  action  of  the  tendons; 
(and  which  configuration  requires  what  he  calls  a variable 
socket,  that  is,  a concavity,  the  lines  of  which  assume  a 
different  curvature  in  different  inclinations  of  the  bones.) 

V.  We  have  now  done  with  the  configuration:  but 
there  is  also  in  the  joints,  and  that  common  to  them  all, 
another  exquisite  provision,  manifestly  adapted  to  their  use, 
and  concerning  which  there  can,  I think,  be  no  dispute, 
namely,  the  regular  supply  of  a mucilage^  more  emollient 
and  slippery  than  oil  itself,  which  is  constantly  softening 
and  lubricating  the  parts  that  rub  upon  each  other,  and 
thereby  diminishing  the  effect  of  attrition  in  the  highest 
possible  degree.=^  For  the  continual  secretion  of  this  im- 
portant liniment,  and  for  the  feeding  of  the  cavities  of  the 
joint  with  it,  glands  are  fixed  near  each  joint;  the  excre- 
tory ducts  of  which  glands  dripping  w ith  their  balsamic 
contents,  hang  loose  like  fringes  within  the  cavity  of  the 
joints.  A late  improvement  in  what  are  called  friction 
wheels,  which  consists  of  a mechanism  so  ordered,  as  to  be 
regularly  dropping  oil  into  a box,  which  encloses  the  axis, 
the  nave,  and  certain  balls  upon  which  the  nave  revolves, 
may  be  said,  in  some  sort,  to  represent  the  contrivance  in 
the  animal  joint;  with  this  superiority,  however,  on  the 


* This  mucilage  is  termed  synovia  ; vulgarly  called  joint  oil,  but  it 
has  no  property  of  oil.  It  is  very  viscid,  and  at  the  same  time  smooth 
and  slippery  to  the  touch;  and  therefore  better  adapted  than  any  oil  to 
lubricate  the  interior  of  the  joints  and  prevent  ill  efiects  from  friction. 

Paxton 


IN  THE  HUMAN  FRAME. 


73 


part  of  the  joint,  viz.  that  here,  the  oil  is  not  only  dropped, 
but  made,^ 

In  considering  the  joints,  there  is  nothing,  pernaps,  which 
ought  to  move  our  gratitude  more  than  the  reflection,  hoio 
well  they  wear.  A limb  shall  swing  upon  its  hinge,  oi 
play  in  its  socket,  many  hundred  times  in  an  hour,  for  six- 
ty years  together,  without  diminution  of  its  agility:  which 
is  a long  time  for  anything  to  last;  for  anything  so  much 
worked  and  exercised  as  the  joints  are.  This  durability  I 
should  attribute,  in  part,  to  the  provision  which  is  made  for 
the  preventing  of  wear  and  tear,  first  by  the  polish  of  the 
cartilaginous  surfaces,  secondly,  by  the  healing  lubrication 
of  the  mucilage;  and,  in  part,  to  that  astonishing  property 
of  animal  constitutions,  assimilation;  by  which,  in  every 
portion  of  the  body,  let  it  consist  of  what  it  will,  substance 
is  restored,  and  waste  repaired. 

* A joint  then  consists  of  the  union  of  two  bones,  of  such  a form  as  to 
permit  the  necessary  motion;  but  they  are  not  in  contact;  each  articulat- 
ing surface  is  covered  with  cartilage,  to  prevent  the  jar  which  would  re- 
sult from  the  contact  of  the  bones.  This  cartilage  is  elastic,  and  the 
celebrated  Dr.  Hunter  discovered  that  the  elasticity  was  in  consequence 
of  a number  of  filaments  closely  compacted,  and  extending  from  the  sur- 
face of  the  bone,  so  that  each  filament  is  perpendicular  to  the  pressure 
made  upon  it.  The  surface  of  the  articulating  cartilage  is  perfectly 
smooth,  and  is  lubricated  by  a fluid  called  synovia,  sygnifying  a muci- 
lage, a viscous  or  thick  liquor.  This  is  vulgarly  called  joint  oil,  but  it 
has  no  property  of  oil,  although  it  is  better  calculated  than  any  oil  to  lu- 
bricate the  interior  of  the  joint. 

When  inflammation  comes  upon  ajoint,  this  fluid  is  not  supplied,  and 
the  joint  is  stiff,  and  the  surfaces  creak  upon  one  another  like  a hinge 
without  oil.  A delicate  membrane  extends  from  bone  to  bone,  confining 
this  lubricating  fluid,  and  forming  the  boundary  of  what  is  termed  the 
cavity  of  the  joint,  although,  in  fact,  there  is  no  unoccupied  space.  Ex- 
ternal to  this  capsule  of  the  joint,  there  are  strong  ligaments  going  from 
point  to  point  of  the  bones,  and  so  ordered  as  to  bind  them  together 
without  preventing  their  proper  motions.  From  this  description  of  a 
single  joint,  we  can  easily  conceive  what  a spring  or  elasticity  is  given  to 
the  foot,  where  thirty-six  bones  are  joined  together. — BelPs  Treatise  on 
Animal  Mechanics. 

t If  the  ingenious  author’s  mind  had  been  professionally  called  to  con- 
template this  subject,  he  would  have  found  another  explanation.  There 
is  no  resemblance  between  the  provisions  against  the  wear  and  tear  of 
machinery  and  those  for  the  preservation  of  a living  part.  As  the  struc 
ture  of  the  parts  is  originally  perfected  by  the  action  of  the  vessels,  the 
function  or  operation  of  the  part  is  made  the  stimulus  to  those  vessels. 
The  cuticle  on  the  hands  wears  away  like  a glove;  but  the  pressure  stim- 
ulates the  living  surfiice  to  force  successive  layers  of  skin  under  that  v^hich 
is  wearing,  or,  as  the  anatomists  call  it,  desquamating;  by  which  they 
mean,  that  the  cuticle  does  not  change  at  once,  but  comes  oft’ in  sqxiamce^ 
or  scales.  The  teeth  are  subject  to  pressure  in  chewing  or  masticating, 
and  they  would,  by  this  action,  have  been  driven  deeper  in  the  jaw,  and 

G 


74 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


Movable  joints,  I think,  compose  the  curiosity  cfbcucs 
but  their  union,  even  where  no  motion  is  intendea  or  want-^ 
ed,  carries  marks  of  mechanism  and  of  mechanical  wis- 
dom. The  teeth,  especially  the  front  teeth,  are  one 
bone  fixed  in  another,  like  a peg  driven  into  a board.  The 
sutures  of  the  skull  are  like  the  edges  of  two  saws  clap- 
ped together,  in  such  a manner  as  that  the  teeth  of  one 
enter  the  intervals  of  the  other.*  We  have  sometimes  one 
hone  lapping  over  another,  and  planed  down  at  the  edges; 
sometimes  also  the  thin  lamella  of  one  bone  received  into 
a narrow  furrow  of  another.  In  all  which  varieties,  wo 
seem  to  discover  the  same  design,  viz.  firmness  of  juncture, 
without  clumsiness  in  the  seam. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OF  THE  MUSCLES. 

Muscles,  with  their  tendons,  are  the  instruments  by 
which  animal  motion  is  performed.  It  will  be  our  business 

rendered  useless,  had  there  not  been  a provision  against  this  mechanical 
effect.  This  provision  is  a disposition  to  grow,  or  rather  to  shoot  out  of 
their  sockets;  and  this  disposition  to  project,  balances  the  pressure  which 
they  sustain*  and  when  one  tooth  is  lost,  its  opposite  rises,  and  is  in  dan- 
ger of  being  lost  also,  for  want  of  that  very  opposition. — Bell's  Treatise 
on  Animal  Mechanics. 

^ Most  of  the  bones  of  the  skull  are  composed  of  two  plates  or  tablets, 
with  an  intermediate  spongy,  vascular  substance;  the  outer  tablet  is^&- 
rons,  having  the  edges  curiously  indented  and  united  by  a dove-tailed 
sii'ure;  the  inner  from  its  brittleness  is  called  vitreous,  and  therefore 
merely  joined  together  in  a straight  line  ; this  mode  of  union  is  not  acci- 
dental— not  the  result  of  chance,  but  design.  The  author  of  the  treatise 
on  “ Animal  Mechanics”  gives  the  following  admirable  illustration  of  the 
structure: — 

“ Suppose'  a carpenter  employed  upon  his^own  material — he  would 
join  a box  with  regular  indentations  by  dove-tailing,  because  he  knows 
that  the  material  on  which  he  works,  from  its  softness  and  toughness, 
admits  of  sucb  adjustment  of  its  edges.  The  processes  of  bone  shoot  in- 
to the  opposite  cavities  with,  an  exact  resemblance  to  the  fox-tail  wedge 
of  the  carpenter. 

“ But  if  a workman  in  glass  or  marble  were  to  join  these  materials,  he 
would  smooth  the  edges  and  unite  them  by  cement;  for  if  he  could  suc- 
ceed in  indenting  the  line  of  union,  he  knows  that  his  material  would 
chip  off  on  the  slightest  vibration. 

“ Now  apply  this  principle  to  the  skull;  the  outer  table,  which  resem- 
bles wood,  is  indented  and  dove-tailed;  the  inner  glassy  ta.de  has  iln 
edges  simply  laid  in  contact.” — Faxton. 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


75 


to  p'  int  out  instances  in  which,  and  properties  with  respect 
to  which,  the  disposition  of  these  muscles  is  as  strictly 
mechanical,  as  that  of  the  wires  and  strings  of  a puppet.^ 

I.  We  may  observe,  what  I believe  is  universal,  an  ex- 
act relation  between  the  joint  and  the  muscles  which  move 
it.  Whatever  motion  the  joint,  by  its  mechanical  construc- 
tion, is  capable  of  performing,  that  motion,  the  annexed 
muscles,  by  their  position,  are  capable  of  producing.  F or 
example;  if  there  be,  as  at  the  knee  and  elbow,  a hinge- 
joint,  capable  of  motion  only  in  the  same  plane,  the  lead- 
ers, as  they  are  called,  i,  e,  the  muscular  tendons,  are 
placed  in  directions  parallel  to  the  bone,  so  as,  by  the  con- 
traction or  relaxation  of  the  muscles  to  which  they  belong, 
to  produce  that  motion  and  no  other.  If  these  joints  were 
capable  of  a freer  motion,  there  are  no  muscles  to  produce 
it.  Whereas  at  the  shoulder  and  the  hip,  where  the  ball 
and  socket  joint  allows  by  its  construction  of  a rotatory  or 
sweeping  motion,  tendons  are  placed  in  such  a position, 
and  pull  in  such  a direction,  as  to  produce  the  motion  of 
which  the  joint  admits.  For  instance,  the  sartorius  or 
tailor’s  muscle,  rising  from  the  spine,  running  diagonally 
across  the  thigh,  and  taking  hold  of  the  inside  of  the  main 
* bone  of  the  leg,  a little  below  the  knee,  enables  us,  by  its 
contraction,  to  throw  one  leg  and  thigh  over  the  other; 
giving  effect,  at  the  same  time,  to  the  ball  and  socket  joint 
at  the  hip,  and  the  hinge-joint  at  the  knee.  [PI.  XII.  fig.  1.] 

There  is,  as  we  have  seen,  a specific  mechanism  in  the 
bones,  for  the  rotatory  motions  of  the  head  and  hands;  there 
is,  also,  in  the  oblique  direction  of  the  muscles  belonging  to 
them,  a specific  provision  for  the  putting  of  this  mechanism 
of  the  bones  into  action.  [PI.  XII.  fig.  2.]  And  mark  the 
consent  of  uses.  The  oblique  muscles  would  have 
been  inefficient  without  that  particular  articulation;  that 
particular  articulation  w'ould  have  been  lost,  without  the 
oblique  muscles.  It  may  be  proper,  however,  to  observe 
with  respect  to  the  head,  although  I think  it  does  not  vary 
the  case,  that  its  oblique  motions  and  inclinations  are  ffien 
motions  in  a diagonal,  produced  by  the  joint  action  of  mus- 

* Muscles  are  the  fleshy  parts  of  the  body  which  surround  the  bones, 
having  a fibrous  texture;  a muscle  being  composed  of  a number  of  mws- 
cular  faciculi,  which  are  composed  of  fibres  still  smaller;  these  result 
from  fibres  of  a less  volume,  until  by  successive  division  we  arrive  at 
very  small  fibres  no  longer  divisible.  These  muscular  fibres  are  longer 
or  shorter  according  to  the  muscles  to  which  they  belong;  and  every  fi- 
bre is  fixed  by  its  two  extremities  to  tendon  or  aponeurosis,  which  are 
the  “wires  and  strings  which  conduct  the  muscular  power  when  they 
contract. — Paxton, 


76 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


cles  lying  in  straight  direction.  But  whether  the  pud  be  sin- 
gle or  combined,  the  articulation  is  always  such,  as  .o  be 
capable  of  obeying  the  action  of  the  muscles.  The  oblique 
muscles  attached  to  the  head,  ere  likewise  so  disposed,  as 
to  be  capable  of  the  steadying  the  globe,  as  well  as  of  mov- 
ing it.  The  head  of  a new-born  infant  is  often  obliged  to 
be  filleted  up.  After  death,  the  head  drops  and  rolls  in 
every  direction.  So  that  it  is  by  the  equilibre  of  the  mus- 
cles, by  the  aid  of  a considerable  and  equipollent  muscular 
force  in  constant  exertion,  that  the  head  maintains  its  erect 
posture.  The  muscles  here  supply  what  would  otherwise 
be  a great  defect  in  the  articulation;  for  the^ joint  in  the 
neck,  although  admirably  adapted  to  the  motion  of  the  head, 
is  insufficient  for  its  support.  It  is  not  only  by  the  means  of 
a most  curious  structure  of  the  bones  that  a man  turns  his 
head,  but  by  virtue  of  an  adjusted  muscular  power,  that  he 
even  holds  it  up. 

As  another  example  of  what  we  are  illustrating,  viz.  con- 
formity of  use  between  the  bones  and  the  muscles,  it  has 
been  observed  of  the  different  vertebrae,  that  their  proces- 
ses are  exactly  proportioned  to  the  quantity  of  motion  which 
the  other  bones  allow  of,  and  which  the  respective  muscles 
are  capable  of  producing. 

II.  A muscle  acts  only  by  contraction.  Its  force  is  ex- 
erted in  no  other  way.  When  the  exertion  ceases,  it  relax- 
es itself,  that  is,  it  returns  by  relaxation  to  its  former  state; 
but  without  energy.  This  is  the  nature  of  the  muscular 
fibre:  and  being  so,  it  is  evident  that  the  reciprocal  ener- 
getic motion  of  the  limbs,  by  which  we  mean  motion  ivith 
force  in  opposite  directions,  can  only  be  produced  by  the 
instrumentality  of  opposite  or  antagonist  muscles;  of  flexors 
and  extensors  answering  to  each  other.  For  instance,  the 
biceps  and  brachiseus  internns  muscles,  placed  in  the  front 
part  of  the  upper  arm, by  their  contraction  bend  the  elbow; 
and  with  such  degree  of  force,  as  the  case  requires,  or  the 
strength  admits  of.  [PI.  XIII.  fig.  1.]  The  relaxation  of 
these  muscles,  after  the  effort,  would  merely  let  the  fore- 
arm drop  down.  For  the  back  sfroke,  therefore,  and  that 
the  arm  may  not  only  bend  at  the  elbow,  but  also  extend  and 
straighten  itself,  with  force,  other  muscles,  the  longus  and 
brevis  bracliiacus  exlernus,  and  tlie  anconmus,  placed  on 
the  hinder  part  of  .he  arms,  by  their  contractile  twitch  fetch 
back  the  fore-arm  into  a straight  line  with  the  cubit,  with 
no  les:  force  than  that  with  which  it  was  bent  out  of  it 
The  same  thing  obtains  in  all  tlie  limbs,  and  in  every  riov 
able  part  of  the  body.  A finger  is  not  bent  and  straigl  ten- 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


77 


ed,  without  the  contraction  of  two  muscles  taking  place.  It 
IS  evident,  therefore,  that  the  animal  functions  require  that 
particular  disposition  of  the  muscles  which  we  describe  b}> 
the  name  of  antagonist  muscles.  And  they  are  according- 
ly so  disposed.  Every  muscle  is  provided  with  an  adversa- 
ry. They  act,  like  two  sawyers  in  a pit  by  an  opposite  pull ; 
and  nothing  surely  can  more  strongly  indicate  design  and 
attention  to  an  end,  than  their  being  thus  stationed;  than 
this  collocation.  The  nature  of  the  muscular  fibre  being 
what  it  is,  the  purposes  of  the  animal  could  be  answered  by 
no  other.  And  not  only  the  capacity  for  motion,  but  the 
aspect  and  symmetry  of  the  body,  is  preserved  by  the  mus- 
cles being  marshalled  according  to  this  order,  e.  g.  the 
mouth  is  holden  in  the  middle  of  the  face,  and  its  angles 
kept  in  a state  of  exact  correspondency,  by  several  mi  scles 
drawing  against,  and  balancing  each  other.  [See  PI.  XI  . fig. 
3.]  In  a hemiplegia,  when  the  muscles  on  one  side  are  vveak- 
ened,  the  muscles  on  the  other  side  draw  the  mouth  awry. 

III.  Another  property  of  the  muscles,  which  could  only 
be  the  result  of  care,  is,  their  being  almost  universally  so 
disposed,  as  not  to  obstruct  or  interfere  with  one  another’s 
action.  I know  but  one  instance  in  which  this  impediment 
is  perceived.  We  cannot  easily  swallow  whilst  we  gape. 
This,  I understand,  is  owing  to  the  muscles  employed  in 
the  act  of  deglutition,  being  so  implicated  with  the  muscles 
of  the  lower  jaw,  that,  whilst  these  last  are  contracted,  the 
former  cannot  act  with  freedom.  The  obstruction  is,  in 
this  instance,  attended  with  little  inconveniency ; but  it 
shows  what  the  effect  is  where  it  does  exist;  and  what 
loss  of  faculty  there  would  be  if  it  were  more  frequent. 
Now,  when  we  reflect  upon  the  number  of  muscles,  not  fewer 
than  four  hundred  and  forty-six  in  the  human  body,  known 
and  named,*  how  contiguous  they  lie  to  each  other,  in  lay- 
ers, as  it  were,  over  one  another,  crossing  one  another, 
sometimes  embedded  m one  another;  sometimes  perforat- 
ing one  another;  an  arrangement,  which  leaves  to  each  its 
liberty,  and  its  full  play,  must  necessarily  require  meditation 
and  counsel 

IV,  The  following  is  oftentimes  the  case  with  the  mus- 
cles. Their  action  is  wanted,  where  thei  * situation  would 
be  inconvenient.  In  which  case,  the  body  of  the  muscle  is 
placed  in  some  commodious  position  at  a distance,  and 
made  to  communicate  with  the  point  of  action,  by  slender 

^ Keill’s  Anat.  p.  295,  edit.  3.  There  are,  however,  five  hundred 
and  ^ ventv  -seven  mu.^  les  described  by  more  modern  anatomists. 

Paxton* 


G 


78 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


strings  or  wires.  If  the  muscles  which  mo /e  the  fingers 
had  been  placed  in  the  palm  or  back  of  the  hand,  the^ 
would  have  swelled  that  part  to  an  awkward  and  clumsy 
thickness.  The  beauty,  the  proportions  of  the  part,  wou.d 
have  been  destroyed.  They  are,  therefore,  disposed  in  the 
arm,  and  even  up  to  the  elbow ; and  act  by  long  tendons, 
strapped  down  at  the  wrist,  and  passing  under  the  ligaments 
to  the  fingers,  and  to  the  joints  of  the  fingers,  which  they 
are  severally  to  move.  [PI.  XIII.  fig.  1,  2.]  In  like  man- 
ner, the  muscles  which  move  the  toes,  and  many  of  the 
joints  of  the  foot,  how  gracefully  are  they  disposed  in  the 
calf  of  the  leg,  ins^.ead  of  forming  an  unwieldy  tumefaction 
ill  the  foot  itself  The  observation  may  be  repeated  of  the 
muscle  which  draws  the  nictitating  membrane  over  the  eye. 
Its  office  is  in  the  front  of  the  eye;  but  its  body  is  lodged 
in  the  back  part  of  the  globe,  where  it  lies  safe,  [PI.  IV.  fig. 
2,  3,]  and  where  it  encumbers  nothing.* 

V.  The  great  mechanical  variety  in  the  figure  of  the 
muscles  may  be  thus  stated.  It  appears  to  be  a fixed  law, 
that  the  contraction  of  a muscle  shall  be  towards  its  centre. 
Therefore,  the  subject  for  mechanism  on  each  occasion  is, 
so  to  modify  the  figure,  and  adjust  the  position  of  the  mus- 
cle, as  to  produce  the  motion  required,  agreeably  with  this 
law.  This  can  only  be  done  by  giving  to  different  muscles 
a diversity  of  configuration,  suited  to  their  several  offices, 
and  to  their  situation  with  respect  to  the  work  which  they 
have  to  perform.  On  which  account  we  find  them  under 
a multiplicity  of  forms  and  attitudes;  sometimes  Avith 
double,  sometimes  with  treble  tendons,  sometimes  with 
none;  sometimes  one  tendon  to  several  muscles,  at  other 
times  one  muscle  to  several  tendons.  The  shape  of  the 
organ  is  susceptible  of  an  incalculable  variety,  Avhilst  the 
original  property  of  the  muscle,  the  laAV  and  line  of  its  con- 
traction, remains  the  same,  and  is  simple.  Herein  the 
muscular  system  may  be  said  to  bear  a perfect  resemblance 
to  our  works  of  art.  An  artist  does  not  alter  the  native 

* The  convenience  and  beauty  of  the  tendons  seem  only  an  ulterior 
object,  their  necessity  and  utility  principally  claim  our  attention.  The 
fonie  which  a muscle  possesses  is  as  the  number  of  the  muscular  fibres; 
but  a limited  numl  ^r  of  fibres  only  can  |)e  fixed  to  any  certain  point  of 
bo  le  destined  to  be  .noved,  therefore  the  contrivance  is,  to  attach  them 
to  a cord,  called  a sii.ew  or  tendon,  which  can  be  conveniently  conducted 
and  fixed  to  the  bone.  If  we  are  desirous  of  moving  a heavy  weight, 
we  tie  a strong  cord  to  it,  that  a greater  number  of  men  may  apply  their 
strength.  Thus  a similar  efiect  is  produced — the  muscular  fibres  are  the 
moving  powers,  the  tendons  are  the  cords  attached  'o  the  point  to  bo 
moved. — Paxton. 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


7S 


quality  dF  his  materials,  or  their  laws  of  action.  He  takes 
these  as  he  finds  them.  His  skill  and  ingenuity  are  em- 
ployed in  turning  them,  such  as  they  are,  to  his  account, 
by  giving  to  the  parts  of  his  machine  a form  and  relation, 
in  which  these  unalterable  properties  may  operate  to  the 
production  of  the  effects  intended. 

VI.  The  ejaculations  can  never  too  often  be  repeated; — 
How  many  things  must  go  right  for  us  to  be  an  hour  at 
ease!  how  many  more,  to  be  vigorous  and  active!  Yet 
vigor  and  activity  are,  in  avast  plurality  of  instances,  pre- 
served in  human  bodies,  notwithstanding  that  they  depend 
upon  so  great  a number  of  instruments  of  motion,  and  not 
withstanding  that  the  defect  or  disorder  sometimes  of  a very 
small  instrument,  of  a single  pair,  for  instance,  out  of  the 
four  hundred  and  forty-six  muschis  which  are  employed, 
may  be  attended  with  grievous  inconveniency.  There  is 
piety  and  good  sense  in  the  following  observation  taken 
out  of  the  Religions  Philosopher:  ‘‘With  much  compas- 
sion,” says  this  writer,  “as  well  as  astonishment  at  the 
goodness  of  our  loving  Creator,  have  I considered  the  sad 
state  of  a certain  gentleman,  who,  as  to  the  rest,  was  in 
pretty  good  health,  but  only  wanted  the  use  of  these  hvo 
lilile  muscles  that  serve  to  lift  up  the  eyelids,  [PI.  XIV.  fig. 
1,  2,]  and  so  had  almost  lost  the  use  of  his  sight,  being 
forced,  as  long  as  this  defect  lasted,  to  shove  up  his  eyelids 
every  moment  with  his  own  hands!”  In  general  we  may 
remark,  how  little  those  who  enjoy  the  perfect  use  of  their 
organs,  know  the  comprehensiveness  of  the  blessing,  the  va- 
riety of  their  obligation.  They  perceive  a result,  but  they 
think  little  of  the  multitude  of  concurrences  and  rectitudes 
which  go  to  form  it. 

Besides  these  observations,  which  belong  to  the  muscu- 
lar organ  as  such,  w^e  may  notice  some  advantages  of  struc- 
ture, which  are  more  conspicuous  in  muscles  of  a certain 
class  or  description  than  in  others.  Thus: 

I.  The  variety,  quickness,  and  precision,  of  which  mus- 
cular motion  is  capable,  are  seen,  I think,  in  no  part 
so  remarkable  as  in  the  tongue.  It  is  worth  any  man’s 
wdiile  to  watch  the  agility  of  his  tongue;  the  wonderful 
promptitude  with  which  it  executes  changes  of  position,  and 
the  perfect  exactness.  Each  syllable  of  articulated  sound 
requires  for  its  utterance  a specific  action  of  the  tongue, 
and  of  the  parts  adjacent  to  it.  The  disposition  and  con- 
figuration of  the  mouth,  appertaining  to  every  letter  and 
word,  is  not  only  peculiar,  but,  if  nicely  and  accurately 
altended  to,  pe  reptible  to  the  sight,  insomuch,  that  curious 


80 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


persons  have  availed  themselves  of  this  circumstance  to 
teach  the  deaf  to  speak,  and  to  understand  what  is  said  by 
others.  In  the  same  person,  and  after  his  habit  of  speak- 
ing is  formed,  one,  and  only  one,  position  of  the  parts,  will 
produce  a given  articulate  sound  correctly.  How  instan- 
taneously are  these  positions  assumed  and  dismissed! 
how  numerous  are  the  permutations,  how  various,  yet  how 
infallible!  Arbitrary  and  antic  variety  is  not  the  thing  we 
admire;  but  variety  obeying  a rule,  conducing  to  an  effect, 
and  commensurate  with  exigencies  infinitely  diversified.  I 
believe  also  that  the  anatomy  of  the  tongue  corresponds 
with  these  observations  upon  its  activity.  The  muscles  of 
the  tongue  are  so  numerous  and  so  implicated  with  one 
another,  that  they  cannot  be  traced  by  the  nicest  dissec- 
tion; nevertheless  (which  is  a great  perfection  of  the  organ,) 
neither  the  number,  nor  the  complexity,  nor  what  might 
seem  to  be  the  entanglement  of  its  fibres,  in  anywise  im- 
pede its  motion,  or  render  the  determination  or  success  of 
its  efforts  uncertain. 

I here  entreat  the  reader’s  permission  to  step  a little  out 
of  my  way,  to  consider  the  'parts  of  the  month,  in  some  of 
their  other  properties.  It  has  been  said,  and  that  by  an 
eminent  physiologist,  that,  whenever  nature  attempts  to 
work  two  or  more  purposes  by  one  instrument,  she  does 
both  or  all  imperfectly.  Is  this  true  of  the  tongue,  regard- 
ed as  an  instrument  of  speech,  and  of  taste;  or  regarded 
as  an  instrument  of  speech,  of  taste  and  of  deglutition.^ 
So  much  otherwise,  that  many  persons,  that  is  to  say,  nine 
hundred  and  ninety-nine  persons  out  of  a thousand,  by  the 
instrumentality  of  this  one  organ,  talk,  and  taste,  and  sw^al- 
low,  very  well.  In  fact,  the  constant  warmth  and  moisture 
of  the  tongue,  the  thinness  of  the  skin,  the  papillie  upon 
its  surface,  qualify  this  organ  for  its  office  of  tasting,  as 
much  as  its  inextricable  multiplicity  of  fibres  do  for  the 
ripid  movements  which  are  necessary  to  speech.  Animals 
which  feed  upon  grass,  have  their  tongues  covered  with  a 
perforated  skin,  so  as  to  admit  the  dissolved  food  to  the  pa- 
pillsB  underneath,  which,  in  the  meantime,  remain  defend- 
ed from  the  rough  action  of  the  unbruised  spiculae.* 

Papillce  are  small  bodies  situated  on  the  surface  and  sides  of  the 
tongue;  they  are  furnished  by  the  extreme  filaments  of  the  gustatory 
nerve,  through  which  medium  we  ac(juire  the  sense  of  tasting.  In  hei 
oivorous  animals  the  papilhe  are  siiarp  pointed  and  directed  backwards 
cO  assiit  in  laying  hold  of  the  grass.  In  the  cat  kind  there  is  a horny  or 
H ickly  set  covering  the  tongue,  rendering  it  rough,  and  enabling  it  to 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


81 


There  art  brought  together  within  the  ca\ity  of  the 
mouth  more  distinct  uses,  and  parts  executing  more  dis- 
tinct offices,  than  I think  can  be  found  lying  so  tear  to 
one  another,  or  within  the  same  compass,  in  any  other  por- 
tion of  the  body:  viz.  teeth  of  different  shape,*  first  for 
cutting;  secondly  for  grinding:  muscles,  most  artificially 
disposed  foi  carrying  on  the  compound  motion  of  the  low- 
^r  jaw,  half  lateral  and  half  vertical,  by  which  the  mill  is 
worked:  fountains  of  saliva,  springing  up  in  different  parts 
of  the  cavity  for  the  moistening  of  the  food,  whilst  the 
mastication  is  going  on:  glands,']'  to  feed  the  fountains;  a 
muscular  constriction  of  a very  peculiar  kind  in  the  back 
part  of  the  cavity,  for  the  guiding  of  the  prepared  aliment 
into  its  passage  towards  the  stomach,  and  in  many  cases 
for  carrying  it  along  that  passage;  for,  although  we  may 
imagine  this  to  be  done  simply  by  the  weight  of  the  food 
itself,  it  in  truth  is  not  so,  even  in  the  upright  posture  of  the 
human  neck;  and  most  evidently  is  not  the  case  with 
quadrupeds,  with  a horse  for  instance,  in  which,  when 
pasturing,  the  food  is  thrust  upward  by  muscular  strength, 
instead  of  descending  of  its  own  accord. 

In  the  meantime,  and  within  the  same  cavity,  is  going 
on  another  business,  altogether  different  from  what  is  here 
described,  that  of  respiration  and  speech.  In  addition 
therefore,  to  all  that  has  been  mentioned,  we  have  a pas- 
sage opened,  from  this  cavity  to  the  lungs,  for  the  admis- 
sion of  air,  exclusively  of  every  other  substance;  we  have 
muscles,  some  in  the  larynx,  and  without  number  in  the 
tongue,  for  the  purpose  of  modulating  that  air  in  its  passage, 
with  a variety,  a compass,  and  precision,  of  which  no  other 
musical  instrument  is  capable.  And,  lastly,  which  in  my 
opinion  crowns  the  whole  as  a piece  of  machinery,  we  have 
a specific  contrivance  for  dividing  the  pneumatic  part  fi'oin 

!ake  firmer  hold  of  the  prey.  Birds  also  have  a similar  contrivance.  In 
fish  the  tongue  is  covered  by  a number  of  teeth,  serving  the  same  purpose. 

Paxton. 

* In  each  jaw  there  qxq  four  incisor es,  or  cutting  teeth,  two  canine 
rfvhich  may  be  ranked  with  the  former,  only  more  pointed;  four  small 
molar,  and  six  large  molar  or  grinding  teeth.  And  as  the  teeth  of  ani- 
mals indicate  the  food  on  which  they  are  destined  to  subsist,  so  from 
analogy  we  may  infei  that  man  is  called  to  use  either  animal  or  vegetable 
aliments,  or  both,  i.  e.  keeps  a mean  between  graminivorous  and  carniv- 
orous animals,  in  the  structure  and  complication  of  his  digestive  appara- 
tus, without  deserving  on  that  account  to  be  called  omnivorous:  for  it  is 
known,  that,  a great  number  of  the  substances  upon  which  animals  feed 
are  3f  no  use  in  the  support  of  man. — Paxton. 

1 The  principal  of  these  are  the  parotids,  see  Plate  XX. 


82 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


the  mechanical,  and  for  preventing  one  set  of  actions  in 
terfering  with  the  other.'  Where  various  functions  are 
united,  the  difficulty  is  to  guard  against  the  inconve- 
niences of  a too  greit  complexity.  In  no  apparatus  put 
together  by  art,  and  for  the  purposes  of  art,  do  I know  such 
multifa:  ious  uses  so  aptly  combined,  as  in  the  natural  or- 
ganiza.ion  of  the  human  mouth;  or,  where  the  structure, 
compared  with  the  uses,  is  so  simple.  The  mouth,  with  all 
these  intentions  to  serve,  is  a single  cavity;  is  one  machine, 
with  its  parts  neither  crowded  nor  confused,  and  each  un- 
embarrassed by  the  rest:  each  at  least  at  liberty  in  a de- 
gree sufficient  for  the  end  to  be  attained.  If  we  cannot 
eat  and  sing  at  the  same  moment,  we  can  eat  one  moment, 
and  sing  the  next:  the  respiration  proceeding  freely  all  the 
while. 

There  is  one  case,  however,  of  this  double  office,  and 
that  of  the  earliest  necessity,  which  the  mouth  alone  could 
not  perform;  and  that  is,  carrying  on  together  the  two  acs 
tions  of  sucking  and  breathing.  Another  route,  therefore, 
is  opened  for  the  air,  namely,  through  the  nose,  which  lets 
the  breath  pass  backward  and  forward,  whilst  the  lips,  in  the 
act  of  sucking,  are  necessarily  shut  close  upon  the  body 
from  which  the  nutriment  is  drawn.  This  is  a circum- 
stance which  always  appeared  to  me  worthy  of  notice. 
The  nose  would  have  been  necessary,  although  it  had  not 
been  the  organ  of  smelling.  The  making  it  the  seat  of  a 
sense,  was  superadding  a new  use  to  a part  already  wanted; 
was  taking  a wise  advantage  of  an  antecedent  and  a con- 
stitutional necessity. 

But  to  return  to  that  which  is  the  proper  subject  of  the 
present  section — the  celerity  and  precision  of  muscular  mo- 
tion. These  qualities  may  be  particularly  observed  in  the 
execution  of  many  pieces  of  instrumental  music,  in  which 
the  changes  produced  by  the  hand  of  the  musician  are  ex- 
ceedingly rapid;  are  exactly  measured,  even  when  most 
minute;  and  display,  on  the  part  of  the  muscles,  an  obedi- 
ence of  action,  alike  wonderful  for  its  quickness  and  its 
correctness. 

Or  let  a person  only  observe  his  own  hand  wffiilst  he  is 
writing;  the  number  of  muscleS  w'hich  are  brought  to 
hear  upon  the  pen:  how  the  joint  and  adjusted  oj^cration 
of  several  tendons  is  concerned  in  every  stroke,  yet  that 
five  hundred  such  strokes  are  drawn  in  a minute.  Not  a 
letter  can  be  turned  without  more  than  one,  or  tw  o,  or  three 
\etdinous  i Urac'.ions,  definite,  both  as  to  the  choice  of 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


83 


the  tendon,  and  as  to  the  spc  ce  through  which  the  re- 
traction moves;  yet  how  currently  d)es  the  work  proceed 
and  when  we  look  at  it,  how  faithful  have  the  musclei 
been  to  their  duty,  how  true  to  the  order  which  endeavoui 
or  habit  hath  inculcated!  For  let  it  be  remembered,  thai 
whilst  a man's  hand-writing  is  the  same,  an  exactitude  of 
order  is  preserved,  whether  he  write  well  or  ill  Thes< 
two  instances,  of  music  and  writing,  show  not  only  th^ 
quickness  and  precision  of  muscular  action,  but  the  do 
cility, 

II.  Regarding  the  particular  configuration  of  muscles, 
sphincter  or  circular  muscles  appear  to  me  admirable  pieces 
of  mechanism.  [PI.  XIV.  fig.  3.]  It  is  the  muscular  pow- 
er most  happily  applied;  the  same  quality  of  the  musculai 
substance,  but  under  a new  modification.  The  circular 
disposition  of  the  fibres  is  strictly  mechanical ; but,  though 
the  most  mechanical,  is  not  the  only  thing  in  sphincters 
which  deserves  our  notice.  The  regulated  degree  of  con- 
tractile force  with  which  they  are  endowed,  sufficient  for 
retention,  yet  vincible  when  requisite;  together  with  their 
ordinary  state  of  actual  contraction,  by  means  of  which 
their  dependence  upon  the  will  is  not  constant,  but  occasion- 
al, gives  to  them  a constitution,  of  which  the  conveniency 
IS  inestimable.  This  their  semi-voluntary  character,  is  ex- 
actly such  as  suits  with  the  wants  and  functions  of  the  ani- 
mal. 

III.  We  may  also',  upon  the  subject  of  muscles,  observe, 
that  many  of  our  most  important  actions  are  achieved  by 
the  combined  help  of  different  muscles.  Frequently,  a 
diagonal  motion  is  produced  by  the  retraction  of  tendons 
pulling  in  the  direction  of  the  sides  of  the  parallelogram. 
This  is  the  case,  as  hath  been  already  noticed,  with  some 
of  the  oblique  nutations  of  the  head.  Sometimes  the  num- 
ber of  co-operating  muscles  is  very  great.  Dr.  Nieuentyt, 
in  the  Leipsic  Transactions,  reckons  up  a hundred  muscles 
that  are  employed  every  time  we  breathe;  yet  we  take  in, 
or  let  out,  our  breath,  without  reflecting  what  a work  is 
thereby  performed;  what  an  apparatus  is  laid  in,  of  instru- 
ments for  the  service,  and  how  many  such  contribute  their 
assistance  to  the  effect!  Breathing  with  ease,  is  a blessing 
of  every  moment;  yet,  of  all  others,  it  is  that  which  we 
possess  with  the  least  consciousness.  A man  in  an  asthma 
is  the  only  man  who  knows  how  to  estimate  ‘t. 

IV.  Sir  Everard  Home  has  observed,*  that  the  most 
important  and  the  most  delicate  actions  are  performed  in  the 

Phil.  Trans,  part  1.  1800.  p.  8 


84 


OF  THE  MUSCLES 


body  by  the  smallest  muscles;  and  he  mentifiis,  as  hi» 
examples,  the  muscles  which  have  been  disco’iered  in  the 
iris  of  the  eye,  and  the  drum  of  the  ear.  The  tenuity  of 
these  muscles  is  astonishing.  They  are  microscopic  hairs; 
must  be  magnified  to  be  visible ; yet  they  are  real,  effective 
muscles;  and  not  only  such,  but  the  grandest  and  most  pre- 
cious of  our  faculties,  sight  and  hearing,  depend  upon  their 
health  and  action. 

V.  The  muscles  act  in  the  limbs  with  what  is  called  a 
mechanical  disadvantage.  The  muscle  at  the  shoulder, 
[PI.  XIII.  fig.  1.  f.]  by  which  the  arm  is  raised,  is  fixed 
nearly  in  the  same  manner  as  the  load  is  fixed  upon*  a 
steelyard,  within  a few  decimals,  we  will  say,  of  an  inch, 
from  the  centre  upon  which  the  steelyard  turns.  In  this 
situation,  we  find  that  a very  heavy  draught  is  no  more 
than  sufficient  to  countervail  the  force  of  a small  lead 
plummet,  placed  upon  the  long  arm  of  the  steelyard,  at  the 
distance  of  perhaps  fifteen  or  twenty  inches  from  the  cen- 
tre, and  on  the  other  side  of  it.  And  this  is  the  disadvantage 
which  is  meant.  And  an  absolute  disadvantage,  no  doubt, 
would  be,  if  the  object  were  to  spare  the  force  of  muscu- 
tir  contraction.  But  observe  how  conducive  is  this  consti  - 
tution to  animal  conveniency.  Mechanism  has  always  in 
view  one  or  other  of  these  two  purposes;  either  to  move  a 
great  weight  slowly,  and  through  a small  space ; or  to  move 
a light  weight  rapidly,  through  a considerable  sweep.  For 
the  former  of  these  purposes,  a different  species  of  lever, 
and  a different  collocation  of  the  muscles,  might  be  better 
tlian  the  present;  but  for  the  second,  the  present  structure 
is  the  true  one.  Now  so  it  happens,  that  the  second,  and 
not  the  first,  is  that  which  the  occasions  of  animal  life  prin- 
cipally call  for.  In  what  concerns  the  human  body,  it  is 
of  much  more  consequence  to  any  man  to  be  able  to  carry 
his  hand  to  his  head  with  due  expedition,  than  it  would  be 
to  have  the  power  of  raising  from  the  ground  a heavier  load 
(of  two  or  three  more  hundred  weight,  we  will  suppose,) 
than  he  can  lift  at  present.  This  last  is  a faculty,  which  on 
some  extraordinary  occasions  he  may  desire  to  possess, 
but  the  Other  is  what  he  wants,  and  uses  every  hour  and 
minute.  In  like  manner,  a husbandman,  or  a gardener, 
will  do  more  execution,  by  being  able  to  carry  his  scythe, 
his  rake,  or  his  flail,  with  a sufficient  despatch  through  a 
sufficient  space,  than  if,  with  greater  strength,  his  motions 
w^ere  proportionably  more  confined  and  slow.  It  is  the 

same  with  a mechanic  in  the  use  of  his  tools.  It  is  the 

same  also  with  other  animals  in  the  use  of  their  limbs.  In 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


85 


general,  the  vivacity  of  their  motions  would  be  ill  excnanged 
for  greater  force  under  a clumsier  structure. 

We  have  offered  our  observations  upon  the  structure  of 
muscles  in  general;  we  have  also  noticed  certain  species 
of  muscles;  but  there  are  also  single  muscles,  which  bear 
marks  of  mechanical  contrivance,  appropriate  as  well  as 
particular.  Out  of  many  instances  of  this  kind,  we  select 
the  following: — 

I.  Of  muscular  actions,  even  of  those  which  are  \^ell 
understood,  some  of  the  most  curious  are  incapable  of  pop- 
ular explanation;  at  least,  without  the  aid  of  plates  and 
figures.*  This  is  in  a great  measure  the  case,  with  a very 
familiar,  but,  at  the  same  time,  a very  complicated  motion — 
that  of  the  lower  jaw;  and  with  the  muscular  structure  by 
which  it  is  produced.  One  of  the  muscles  concerned  may, 
however,  be  described  in  such  a manner,  as  to  be,  I think, 
sufficiently  comprehended  for  our  present  purpose.  The 
problem  is  to  pull  the  lower  jaw  down.  The  obvious  method 
should  seem  to  be,  to  place  a straight  muscle,  viz.  to  fix  a 
string  from  the  chin  to  the  breast,  the  contraction  of  which 
would  open  the  mouth,  and  produce  the  motion  required  at 
once.  But  it  is  evident  that  the  form  and  liberty  of  the 
neck  forbid  a muscle  being  laid  in  such  a position;  and 
that,  consistently  with  the  preservation  of  this  form,  the 
motion,  which  we  want,  must  be  effectuated  by  some  muscu- 
lar mechanism  disposed  farther  back  in  the  jaw.  The  me- 
chanism adopted  is  as  follows:  [PI.  XV.  fig.  1,2.]  A 
certain  muscle  called  the  digastric,  rises  on  the  side  of  the 
face,  considerably  above  the  insertion  of  the  lower  jaw, 
and  comes  down,  being  converted  in  its  progress  into  a 
round  tendon.  Now,  it  is  evident,  that  the  tendon,  whilst 
it  pursues  a direction  descending  towards  the  jaw,  must, 
by  its  contraction,  pull  the  jaw  up,  instead  of  down.  What 
then  was  to  be  done?  This,  we  find  is  done:  The  de- 
scending tendon,  when  it  is  got  low  enough,  is  passed 
through  a loop,  or  ring,  or  pulley,  in  the  os  hyoides,  and 
then  made  to  ascend:  and,  having  thus  changed  its  line  of 
direction,  is  inserted  into  the  inner  part  of  the  chin:  by 
which  device,  viz.  the  turn  at  the  loop,  the  action  of  the 
muscle  (which  in  all  muscles  is  contraction)  that  before 
would  have  pulled  the  jaw  up,  now  as  necessarily  draws  it 
down.  The  mouth,’'  says  Heister,  “ is  opened  by  means 
of  this  trochlea  in  a most  wonderful  and  elegant  manner.” 

II.  What  contrivance  can  be  more  mechanical  than 

* The  want  of  the  aid  of  plates  and  figures,  which  the  author  here  ex 
presses,  is  now  supplied  in  this  Boston  edition. 

H 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


S6 

the  following,  viz.  a slit  in  one  tendon  to  let  ancther  ten 
don  pass  through  it?  This  structure  is  found  in  the  ten- 
dons which  move  the  toes  and  fingers.  The  long  tendon 
as  it  is  called,  in  the  foot,  which  bends  the  first  joint  of  the 
toe,  passes  through  the  short  tendon  which  bends  the  sec- 
ond joint;  which  course  allows  to  the  sinew  more  liberty, 
and  a more  commodious  action  than  it  would  otherwise 
have  been  capable  of  exerting.*  [PI.  XVI.  fig.  1, 2.]  There 
is  nothing,  I believe,  in  a silk  or  cotton  mill,  in  the  belts, 
or  straps,  or  ropes,  by  which  motion  is  communicated  from 
one  part  of  the  machine  to  another,  that  is  more  artificial, 
or  more  evidently  so,  than  this  'perforation. 

III.  The  next  circumstance  which  I shall  mention,  un- 
der this  head  of  muscular  arrangement,  is  so  decisive  a 
mark  of  intention,  that  it  always  appeared  to  me,  to  super- 
sede, in  some  measure,  the  necessity  of  seeking  for  any 
other  observation  upon  the  subject;  and  that  circumstance 
is,  the  tendons,  which  pass  from  the  leg  to  the  foot,  being 
bound  down  by  a ligament  at  the  ankle.  [PI.  XVI.  fig.  3.] 
The  foot  is  placed  at  a considerable  angle  with  the  leg 
It  is  manifest,  therefore,  that  flexible  strings,  passing  along 
the  interior  of  the  angle,  if  left  to  themselves,  would,  when 
stretched,  start  from  it.  The  obvious  preventive  is  to  tic 
them  down.  Vnd  this  is  done  in  fact.  Across  the  instep, 
or  rather  just  above  it,  the  anatomist  finds  a strong  liga- 
ment under  which  the  tendons  pass  to  the  foot.  The  ef 
feet  of  the  ligament  as  a bandage,  can  be  made  evident  to 
the  senses;  for  if  it  be  cut,  the  tendons  start  up.  The 
simplicity,  yet  the  clearness  of  this  contrivance,  its  exact 
resemblance  to  established  resources  of  art,  place  it  amongst 
the  most  indubitable  manifestations  of  design  with  which 
we  are  acquainted. 

There  is  also  a farther  use  to  be  made  of  the  present 
example,  and  that  is,  as  it  precisely  contradicts  the  opin- 
ion, that  the  parts  of  animals  may  have  been  all  formed 
by  what  is  called  appetency,  i.  e.  endeavour,  perpetuated, 
and  imperceptibly  working  its  effect,  through  an  incalcu- 
lable series  of  generations.  We  have  here  no  endeavour, 
but  the  reverse  of  it;  a constant  renitency  and  reluctance. 
The  endeavour  is  all  the  other  way.  The  pressure  of  the 
ligament  constrains  the  tendons;  the  tendons  react  upon 
the  pressure  of  the  ligament.  It  is  impossible  that  the  lig- 
ament should  ever  have  been  gener  ited  by  the  exercise  of 
the  tenden,  or  in  the  course  of  that  exercise,  forasmuch  aa 


♦ Ches.  Anat.  p.  94,  119. 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


87 


the  foi  ce  of  the  tendon  perpendicularly  resists  the  fibre 
which  confines  it,  and  is  constantly  endeavouring,  not  to 
form,  but  to  rupture  and  displace,  the  threads  of  which  the 
ligament  is  composed. 

Keill  has  reckoned  up,  in  the  human  body,  four  hundred 
and  forty-six  muscles,  [See  note,  p.  77,]  dissectible  and  de- 
scribable ; and  hath  assigned  a use  to  every  one  of  the  num- 
ber. This  cannot  be  all  imagination. 

Bishop  Wilkins  hath  observed  from  Galen,  that  there  are, 
at  least,  ten  several  qualifications  to  be  attended  to  in  each 
particular  muscle ; viz.  its  proper  figure ; its  just  magni- 
tude; its  fulcrum;  its  point  of  action,  supposing  the  figure 
to  be  fixed;  its  collocation,  with  respect  to  its  two  ends,  the 
upper  and  the  lower;  the  place;  the  position  of  the  whole 
muscle;  the  introduction  into  it  of  nerves,  arteries,  and 
veins.  How  are  things,  including  so  many  adjustments,  to 
be  made,  or,  when  made,  how  are  they  to  be  put  together, 
without  intelligence? 

I have  sometimes  wondered,  why  we  are  not  struck 
with  mechanism  in  animal  bodies,  as  readily  and  as  strong- 
ly as  we  are  struck  with  it,  at  first  sight,  in  a watch  or  a 
mill.  One  reason  of  the  diflerence  may  be,  that  animal 
bodies  are,  in  a great  measure,  made  up  of  soft,  flabby 
substances,  such  as  muscles  and  membranes;  w^hereas  we 
have  been  accustomed  to  trace  mechanism  in  sharp  lines, 
in  the  configuration  of  hard  materials,  in  the  moulding, 
chiseling,  and  filing  into  shapes,  such  articles  as  metals  or 
wood.  There  is  something,  therefore,  of  habit  in  the  case; 
but  it  is  sufficiently  evident,  that  there  can  be  no  proper 
reason  for  any  distinction  of  the  sort.  Mechanism  may 
be  displaye“d  in  one  kind  of  substance,  as  well  as  in  the 
other. 

Although  the  few  instances  we  have  selected,  even  as 
they  stand  in  our  description,  are  nothing  short  perhaps 
of  logical  proofs  of  design,  yet  it  must  not  be  forgotten, 
that,  in  every  part  of  anatomy,  description  is  a poor  sub- 
stitute for  inspection.  It  is  well  said  by  an  able  anato- 
mist,and  said  in  reference  to  the  very  part  of  the  sub- 
ject which  w^e  have  been  treating  of: — Imperfecta  hoec 
musculorum  descriptio,  non  minus  arida  est  legentibus, 
quom  inspectantibus  fuerit  jucunda  eorundem  prseparatio. 
Elcgantiss  ma  enim  mechanices  artificia,  creberrime  in 
illis  obvia  verbis  nonnisi  obscure  exprimuntur:  carniiim 

* Sterno  in  Bias.  Anat.  Animal,  p.  2.  c 4. 


88 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


aulem  ductu,  tendinum  colore,  insertionum  proportione 
e/:  trochlearium  distributione,  oculis  exposita,  omnen  su- 
perant admiral  ionem.” 


The  following  remarks  upon  the  structure  of  the  tendons,  from  the  An- 
imal Mechanics  already  quoted,  will  form  an  instructive  addition  to  the  fore- 
going chapter,  to  the  subject  of  which  they  bear  a near  relation. — Ed, 


Of  the  Cordage  of  the  Tendons. 

Where  lature  has  provided  a perfect  system  of  columns  ana 
levers,  and  pullies,  we  may  anticipate  that  the  cords  by  which  the 
force  of  the  muscles  is  concentrated  on  the  movable  bones,  .must 
6e  constructed  with  as  curious  a provision  for  their  offices.  In 
this  surmise  we  shall  not  be  disappointed. 

To  understand  what  is  necessary  to  the  strength  of  a iV)pe  or  a 
cable,  we  must  leai*n  what  has  been  the  object  of  the  improve- 
ments and  patents  in  this  manufacture.  The  first  process  in  rope- 
making, is  hatchelling  the  hemp : that  is,  combing  out  the  short 
fibres,  and  placing  the  long  ones  parallel  to  one  another.  The 
second  is,  spinning  the  hemp  into  yarns.  And  here  the  principle 
must  be  attended  to,  which  goes  through  the  whole  process  in 
forming  a cable;  which  is  that  the  fibres  of  the  hemp  shall 
bear  an  equal  strain : and  the  difficulty  may  be  easily  conceived, 
since  the  twisting  must  demnge  the  parallel  position  of  the  fibres. 
Each  fibre,  as  it  is  twisted,  ties  the  other  fibres  together,  so  as  to 
form  a continued  line,  aiid  it  bears,  at  the  same  time,  a certain  por- 
tion of  the  strain,  and  so  each  fibre  alternately.  The  third  step  of 
the  process  is  making  the  yarns.  Warping  the  yarns,  is  stretching 
them  to  a certain  length ; and  for  the  same  reason,  that  so  much 
attention  has  been  paid  to  the  arrangement  of  the  fibres  for  the 
yarns,  the  same  care  is  taken  in  the  management  of  the  yarns  for 
the  strands.  The  fourth  step  of  the  process  is  to  form  the  strands 
into  ropes.  The  difficulty  of  the  art  has  been  to  make  them  bear 
alike,  especially  in  gi*eat  cables,  and  this  has  been  the  object  of  pa- 
tent machinery.  The  hardenmg,^  by  twisting,  is  also  an  essential 
part  of  the  process  of  rope-making:  for  without  this,  it  would  be 
little  better  than  extended  ])arallel  fibres  of  hemp.  In  this  twist- 
ing, first  of  the  yarns,  and  then  of  the  strands,  those  which  are  on 
the  outer  surface  must  be  more  stretched  than  those  near  the  cen- 
tre ; consequently,  when  there  is  a strain  uj)on  the  rope,  the  outer 
fibres  will  break  first,  and  the  others  in  succession.  It  is  to  avoid 
this,  that  each  yarn  and  each  strand,  as  it  is  twisted  or  hardened, 
shall  be  itself  revolving,  so  that  when  drawn  into  the  cable,  the 
whole  component  parts  may,  as  nearly  as  possible,  resist  the  strain 
in  an  equal  degree;  but  the  process  is  not  ])erfect,  and  this  we 
must  conclude  from  observing  how  different  the  construction  of  a 
tendon  is  from  that  of  a rope.  A tendon  consists  of  a strong  cord; 
ni)j)areiiily  fibrous ; but  which,  by  the  art  of  the  anatomist,  may 
be  separate!  nto  lesser  cords,  and  these,  by  maceration,  can  be 


OF  THE  MUSCLES. 


89 


ahovvn  to  consist  of  cellular  membrane,  the  common  tissue  that 
gives  firmness  to  all  the  textures  of  the  animal  body.  The  peeu- 
harity  here  results  merely  from  its  remarkable  condensation.  Jhit 
the  cords  of  which  the  larger  tendons  consists,  dU  not  lie  j^arallel 
to  each  other,  nor  are  they  simply  twisted  like  the  strands  of  a 
rope;  they  are,  on  the  contrary,  plaited  or  interwoven  together. 

If  the  strong  tendon  of  the  heel,  or  Achilles  tendon,  be  taken  as 
an  example,  on  first  inspection,  it  appears  to  consist  of  parallel 
fibres,  but  by  maceration,  these  fibi*es  are  found  to  be  a web  of 
twisted  cellular  texture.  If  you  take  your  handkerchief,  and, 
slightly  twisting  it,  draw  it  out  like  a rope,  it  will  seem  to  consist 
of  parallel  cords ; such  is,  in  fact,  so  far  the  structure  of  a tendon. 
But,  as  we  have  stated,  there  is  something  more  admirable  than 
this,  for  the  tendon  consists  of  subdivisions,  which  are  like  the  strands 
of  a rope;  but  instead  of  being  twisted  simply  as  by  the  process 
of  hardening,  they  are  plaited  or  interwoven  in  a way  that  could 
not  be  imitated  in  cordage  by  the  turning  of  a wheel.  Here  then 
IS  the  difference — by  the  twisting  of  a rope,  tlie  strands  cannot 
resist  the  strain  equally,  whilst  we  see  that  tins  is  provided  for  in 
the  tendon  by  the  regular  interweaving  of  the  yarn,  if  we  may  so 
express  it,  so  that  every  fibre  deviates  from  the  parallel  line  in  the 
same  degree,  and,  consequently,  receives  the  same  strain  when  the 
tendon  is  pulled.  If  we  seek  for  examples  illustrative  of  this 
structure  of  the  tendons,  we  must  turn  to  the  subject  of  ship-rig 
ging,  and  see  there  how  the  seaman  contrives,  by  undoing  the 
strands  and  yarns  of  a rope,  and  twisting  them  anew,  to  make  his 
splicing  stronger  than  the  original  cordage.  A sailor  opens  the 
ends  of  two  ropes,  and  places  the  strand  of  one  opposite  and  be- 
tween the  strand  of  another,  and  so  interlaces  them.  And  this  ex- 
plains why  a hawser- rope,  a sort  of  small  cable,  is  spun  of  three 
strands ; for  as  they  are  necessary  for  many  operations  in  the  rigging 
of  a ship,  they  must  be  formed  in  a way  that  admits  of  being  cut 
and  spliced,  for  the  separation  of  three  strands,  at  least,  is  necessa- 
ry for  knotting,  splicing,  whipping,  mailing,  &c.,  which  are  a few 
of  the  many  curious  contrivances  for  joining  the  ends  of  ropes, 
and  for  strengthening  them  by  filling  up  the  interstices  to  preserve 
them  from  being  cut  or  frayed.  As  these  methods  of  S})licing  and 
plaiting  in  the  subdivisions  of  the  rope  make  an  intertexture  strong- 
er than  the  original  ro})e,  it  is  an  additional  demonstration,  if  any 
were  wanted,  to  show  the  perfection  of  the  cordage  of  an  animal 
machine,  since  the  tendons  are  so  intei*woven  ; and  until  the  yarns 
of  one  strand  be  separated  and  interwoven  with  the  yarns  of 
another  strand,  and  this  done  with  regular  exchange,  the  most  ap- 
proved patent  ropes  must  be  inferior  to  the  corresponding  part  of 
the  animal  machinery. 

A piece  of  cord  of  a new  patent  has  been  shown  to  us,  v/hich  is 
said  to  be  many  times  stronger  than  any  other  cord  of  the  same 
diameter.  It  is  so  far  upon  the  principle  here  stated,  that  the 
strands  are  }>laited  instead  of  being  twisted ; but  the  tendon  has 
still  its  superiority,  for  tbe  lesser  yarns  of  each  strand  in  it  are  in- 
terwoven with  those  of  other  strands.  It  however,  gratifies  us  to 
•see,  that  the  principle  we  draw  from  the  animal  body  is  here  con- 


90 


OF  THE  VESSELS. 


firmed.  It  may  be  asked,  do  not  the  tendons  of  tne  human  body 
sometiiaes  break?  They  do;  but  in  circumstances  which  only 
add  to  the  interest  of  the  subject.  By  the  exercise  of  the  tendons 
(and  their  exercifee  is  the  act  of  being  pulled  upon  by  the  mus 
cles,  or  having  a strain  made  on  them,)  they  become  firmer  and 
stronger ; but  in  the  failure  of  muscular  activity,  they  become  less 
capable  of  resisting  the  tug  made  upon  them,  and  if,  after  a long 
confinement,  a man  has  some  powerful  excitement  to  muscular 
exertion,  then  the  tendon  breaks.  An  old  gentleman,  whose  habits 
have  been  long  staid  and  sedentaiy,  and  who  is  very  guarded  in  his 
walk,  is  upon  an  annual  festival  tempted  to  join  the  young  people 
in  a dance ; then  he  breaks  his  tendo  Achilles.  Or  a sick  person, 
long  confined  to  bed,  is,  on  rising,  subject  to  a rupture  or  hernia, 
because  the  tendinous  expansions  guarding  against  protrusion  of 
the  internal  parts,  have  become  weak  from  disuse. 

Such  circumstances  remind  us  that  we  are  speaking  of  a living 
body,  and  that,  in  estimating  the  properties  of  the  machinery,  we 
ought  not  to  forget  the  influence  of  life,  and  that  the  natural  ex- 
ercise of  the  parts,  whether  they  be  active  or  passive,  is  the 
stimulus  to  the  circulation  through  them,  and  to  their  growth  and 
perfection. 


CHAPTER  X. 

OF  THE  VESSELS  OF  ANIMAL  BODIES. 

The  circulation  of  the  blood,  through  the  bodies  of  men 
and  quadrupeds,  and  the  apparatus  by  which  it  is  carried 
on,  compose  a system,  and  testify  a contrivance,  perhaps 
the  best  understood  of  any  part  of  the  animal  frame.  The 
lymphatic  vessels,  or  the  nervous  system,  may  be  more  sub- 
tile and  intricate;  nay,  it  is  possible  that  in  their  structure 
they  may  be  even  more  artificial  than  the  sanguiferous; 
but  we  do  not  know  so  much  about  them. 

The  utility  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood  I assume  as 
an  acknowledged  point.  One  grand  purpose  is  plainly 
answered  by  it;  the  distributing  to  every  part,  every  ex- 
tremity, every  nook  and  corner  of  the  body,  the  nourish- 
ment which  is  received  into  it  by  one  aperture.  What  en- 
ters at  the  mouth  finds  its  way  to  the  fingers’  ends.  A more 
difficult  mechanical  problem  could  hardly,  I think,  be  pro- 
posed, than  to  discover  a method  of  constantly  repairing 
the  waste,  and  of  supplying  an  accession  of  substance  to 
every  oart  of  a complicated  machine,  at  the  same  time. 

This  sys-^f^n  presents  itself  under  two  views:  first,  the 


OF  ANIMAL  BODIES. 


91 


disposition  of  t ie  blood-vessels,  i.  e.  the  laying  of  the  pipes; 
and  secondly,  the  construction  of  the  engine  at  the  centre, 
viz.  the  heart,  for  driving  the'lilood  through  them. 

I.  The  dioposition  of  the  blood-vessels,  as  far  as  regards 
the  supply  of  the  body,  is  like  that  of  the  water  pipes  in  a 
city,  viz.  large  and  main  trunks  branching  off  by  smaller 
pipes  (and  these  again  by  still  narrower  tubes)  in  every 
direction,  and  towards  every  part  in  which  the  fluid,  which 
they  convey,  can  be  wanted.  So  far  the  water  pipes, 
which  serve  a town,  may  represent  the  vessels  which  carry 
the  blood  from  the  heart.  But  there  is  another  thing 
necessary  to  the  blood,  which  is  not  wanted  for  the  water; 
and  that  is,  the  carrying  of  it  back  again  to  its  source. 
For  this  office,  a reversed  system  of  vessels  is  prepared, 
which,  uniting  at  their  extremities  with  the  extremities  of 
the  first  system,  collects  the  divided  and  subdivided  stream- 
lets, first  by  capillary  ramifications  into  larger  branches; 
secondly,  by  these  branches  into  trunks;  and  thus  returns 
the  blood  (almost  exactly  inverting  the  order  in  which  it 
went  out)  to  the  fountain  whence  its  motion  proceeded.  All 
which  is  Evident  mechanism. 

The  body,  therefore,  contains  two  systems  of  blood-ves- 
sels, arteries  and  veins.  Between  the  constitution  of  the 
systems  there  are  also  two  differences,  suited  to  the  func- 
tions which  the  systems  have  to  execute.  The  blood,  in 
going  out,  passing  always  from  wider  into  narrower  tubes; 
and,  in  coming  back,  from  narrower  into  wider;  it  is  evi- 
dent, that  the  impulse  and  pressure  upon  the  sides  of  the 
blood-vessel,  will  be  much  greater  in  one  case  than  the 
other.  Accordingly,  the  arteries  which  carry  out  the  blood, 
are  formed  with  much  tougher  and  stronger  coats,  than  the 
veins  which  bring  it  back.  That  is  one  difference:  the 
other  is  still  more  artificial,  or,  if  I may  so  speak,  indicates, 
still  more  clearly,  the  care  and  anxiety  of  the  artificer. 
Forasmuch  as  in  the  arteries,  by  reason  of  the  great  force 
with  which  the  blood  is  urged  along  them,  a wound  or  rup- 
ture would  be  more  dangerous  than  in  the  veins;  these 
vessels  are  defended  from  injury,  not  only  by  their  texture, 
but  by  their  situation;  and  by  every  advantage  of  situation 
which  can  be  given  to  them.  They  are  buried  in  sinuses, 
or  they  creep  along  grooves,  made  for  them  in  the  bones ; 
for  instance,  the  under  edge  of  the  ribs  is  sloped  and  fur- 
rowed solely  for  the  passage  of  these  vessels.  Sometimes 
they  proceed  in  channels,  protected  by  stout  parapets  on 
each  side;  which  last  description  is  remarkable  in  the 
bones  of  the  fingers,  these  being  hollowed  out,  on  the 


92 


OF  THE  VESSELS 


under  side,  like  a scoop,  and  with  such  a concavity  that  the 
finger  may  be  cut  across  to  the  bone,  without  hurting  the 
artery  which  runs  along  it.  At  other  times,  the  arteries 
pass  in  canals  wrought  in  the  substance,  and  in  the  very 
middle  of  the  substance  of  the  bone;  this  takes  place  in 
the  lower  jaw;  and  is  found  where  there  would,  otherwise, 
be  danger  of  compression  by  sudden  curvature.  All  this 
care  is  wonderful,  yet  not  more  than  what  the  importance 
of  the  case  required.  To  those  who  venture  their  lives 
in  a ship,  it  has  been  often  said,  that  there  is  only  an  inch 
board  betweer.  hem  and  death;  but  in  the  body  itself,  es- 
pecially in  the  arterial  system,  there  is,  in  many  parts,  only 
a membrane,  a skin,  a thread.  For  which  reason,  this  sys- 
tem lies  deep  under  the  integuments;  whereas  the  veins,  in 
which  the  mischief  that  ensues  from  injuring  the  coats  is 
much  less,  lie  in  general  above  the  arteries;  come  nearei 
to  the  surface;  are  more  exposed. 

It  may  be  farther  observed  concerning  the  two  systems 
taken  together,  that  though  the  arterial,  with  its  trunks 
and  branches  and  small  twigs,  may  be  imagined  to  issue  or 
proceed,  in  other  words,  to  grow  from  the  heart,  like  a plant 
from  its  root,  or  the  fibres  of  a leaf  from  its  foot-stalk,  (which, 
however,  were  it  so,  would  be  only  to  resolve  one  mechanism 
into  another,)  yet  the  venal,  the  returning  system,  can  never 
be  formed  in  this  manner.  The  arteries  might  go  on  shoot- 
ing out  from  their  extremities,  i.  e.  lengthening  and  sub- 
dividing indefinitely;  but  an  inverted  system,  continually 
uniting  its  streams,  instead  of  dividing,  and  thus  carrying 
back  what  the  other  system  carried  out,  could  not  be  refer- 
red to  the  same  process. 

II.  The  next  thing  to  be  considered  is  the  engine  which 
works  this  machinery,  viz.  the  heart.  [PI.  XVII.  fig.  1.] 
For  our  purpose  it  is  unnecessary  to  ascertain  the  principle 
upon  which  the  heart  acts.  Whether  it  be  irritation  excited 
by  the  contact  of  the  blood,  by  the  influx  of  the  nervous 
fluid,  or  whatever  else  be  the  cause  of  its  motion,  it  is  some- 
thing which  is  capable  of  producing,  in  a living  muscular 
fibre,  reciprocal  contraction  and  relaxation.  This  is  the 
power  we  have  to  work  with;  and  the  inquiry  is,  how  this 
power  IS  applied  in  the  instance  before  us.  There  is  pro- 
vided, in  the  central  part  of  the  body,  a hollow  muscle,  in- 
vested with  spiral  fibres,  running  in  both  directions,  the 
layers  intersecting  one  another;  in  some  animals,  however, 
appearing  to  be  semicircular  rather  than  spiral.  By  the 
contraction  of  these  fibres,  the  sides  ofthe  muscular  cavities 
are  necessarily  squeezed  together,  so  as  to  force  out  from 


OF  ANIMAL  BODIES. 


93 


them  any  fluid  wnich  they  may  at  that  time  contain:  by 
the  relaxation  of  the  same  fibres,  the  cavities  are  in  their 
turn  dilated,  and,  of  course,  prepared  to  admit  every  fluid 
\vhich  may  be  poured  into  them.  Into  these  cavities  are 
inserted  the  great  trunks,  both  of  the  arteries  which  carry 
out  the  blood,  and  of  the  veins  which  bring  it  back.  This 
is  a general  account  of  the  apparatus:  and  the  simplest  idea 
of  its  action  is,  that,  by  each  contraction,  a portion  of  blood 
is  forced  by  a syringe  into  the  arteries;  and,  at  each 
dilatation,  an  equal  portion  is  received  from  the  veins.  This 
produces,  at  each  pulse,  a motion,  and  change  in  the  mass 
of  blood,  to  the  amount  of  what  the  cavity  contains,  which, 
in  a full-grown  human  heart,  I understand,  is  about  an 
ounce,  or  two  table-spoons  full.  How  quickly  these  changes 
succeed  one  another,  and  by  this  succession  how  sufficient 
they  are  to  support  a stream  or  circulation  throughout  the 
system,  may  be  understood  by  the  following  computation, 
abridged  from  Keilfs  Anatomy,  p.  117.  ed.  3:  ‘‘  Each  ven- 
tricle will  at  least  contain  one  ounce  of  blood.  The  heart 
contracts  four  thousand  times  in  one  hour;  from  which  it 
follows,  that  there  pass  through  the  heart,  every  hour, 
four  thousand  ounces,  or  three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of 
blood.  Now  the  whole  mass  of  blood  is  said  to  be  about 
twenty-five  pounds;  so  that  a quantity  of  blood,  equal  to  the 
whole  mass  of  blood,  passes  through  the  heart  fourteen  times 
m one  hour;  which  is  about  once  every  four  minutes.’’ 
Consider  what  an  aflair  this  is,  when  we  come  to  very  large 
animals.  The  aorta  of  a whale  is  larger  in  the  bore  than 
the  main  pipe  of  the  water-works  at  London  bridge;  and 
the  water  roaring  in  its  passage  through  that  pipe  is  in- 
ferior in  impetus  and  velocity,  to  the  blood  gushing  from 
the  whale’s  heart.  Hear  I t.  Hunter’s  account  of  the  dis- 
section of  a whale: — ‘^The  aorta  measured  a foot  diame- 
ter. Ten  or  fifteen  gallons  of  blood  are  thrown  out  of  the 
heart  at  a stroke  with  an  immense  velocity,  through  a tube 
of  a foot  diameter.  The  whole  idea  fills  the  mind  with  won- 
der.”^ 

The  account  which  we  have  here  stated,  of  the  injec- 
tion of  blood  into  the  arteries  by  the  contraction,  and  of 
the  corresponding  reception  of  it  from  the  veins  by  the  di- 
latation of  the  cavities  of  the  heart,  and  of  the  circulation 
being  thereby  maintained  through  the  blood-vessels  of  the 
body,  is  true,  but  imperfect.  The  heart  performs  this  of- 
fice, but  it  is  in  conjunction  with  another  of  equal  curiosi- 

* Dr  Hunter’s  account  of  the  dissection  of  a whale.  Phil.  Trans. 


94 


OF  THE  VESSELS 


ty  and  importance.  It  was  necessary  that  the  blood  should 
be  successively  brought  into  contact,  or  contiguity,  or  prox- 
imity, with  the  air,  I do  not  know  that  the  chemical  rea- 
son, upon  which  this  necessity  is  founded,  has  been  yet 
sufficiently  explored.  It  seems  to  be  made  to  appear,  that 
the  atmosphere  which  we  breathe  is  a mixture  of  two  kinds 
of  air;  one  pure  and  vital,  the  other,  for  the  purposes  of 
life,  effete,  foul,  and  noxious:  that  when  we  have  drawn 
in  our  breath,  the  blood  in  the  lungs  imbibes  from  the  air, 
thus  brought  into  contiguity  with  it,  a portion  of  its  pure  in- 
gredient, and,  at  the  same  time,  gives  out  the  effete  or 
corrupt  air  which  it  contained,  and  which  is  carried  away, 
along  with  the  halitus,  every  time  we  respire.  * At  least, 
by  comparing  the  air  which  is  breathed  from  the  lungs 
with  the  air  which  enters  the  lungs,  it  is  found  to  have 
lost  some  of  its  pure  part,  and  to  have  brought  away  with 
it  an  addition  of  its  impure  part.  Whether  these  experiments 
satisfy  the  question,  as  to  the  need  which  the  blood  stands 
in  of  being  visited  by  continual  accesses  of  air,  is  not  for 
us  to  inquire  into,  nor  material  to  our  argument:  it  is  suf- 
ficient to  know,  that  in  the  constitution  of  most  animals, 
such  a necessity  exists,  and  that  the  air,  by  some  means  or 
other,  must  be  introduced  into  a near  communication  with 
the  blood.  The  lungs  of  animals  are  constructed  for  this 
purpose.  They  consist  of  blood-vessels  and  air-vessels,  ly- 
ing close  to  each  other;  and  wherever  there  is  a branch 
of  the  trachea  or  windpipe,  there  is  a branch  accompanying 
it  of  the  vein  and  artery,  and  the  air-vessel  is  always  in  the 
middle  between  the  blood-vessels.*  The  internal  surface 
of  these  vessels,  upon  which  the  application  of  the  air  to 
the  blood  depends,  would,  if  collected  and  expanded,  be, 
in  a man,  equal  to  a superficies  of  fifteen  feet  square.  Now’, 
in  order  to  give  the  blood  in  its  course  the  benefit  of  this 
organization,  (and  this  is  the  part  of  the  subject  with  which 
we  are  chiefly  concerned,)  the  following  operation  takes 
place.  As  soon  as  the  blood  is  received  by  the  heart 
from  the  veins  of  the  body,  and  before  that  is  sent  : it 
again  into  its  arteries,  it  is  carried  by  the  force  of  tne 
contraction  of  the  heart,  and  by  means  of  a separate  and 
supplementary  artery,  to  the  lungs,  and  made  to  enter 
the  vessels  of  the  lungs;  from  which,  alter  it  has  under- 
gone the  action,  w'liatever  it  be,  of  that  viscus,  it  is 
brought  back  by  a large  vein  oni’.e  more  to  tlie  heart,  in 
orde^',  when  thus  concocted  and  prepared  lo  be  thence 


* Keill’s  Anat.  j 121. 


or  ANIM  IL  BODjeS. 


95 


distributed  anew  into  he  system.  This  ass  gns  to  the 
heart  a double  office.  The  pulmonary  circulation  is  a 
system  within  a system  and  one  action  of  the  heart  is  the 
origin  of  both. 

For  this  complicated  ffinction,  four  cavities  become  ne- 
cessary; and  four  are  accordingly  provided:  two,  call- 
ed ventricles,  which  send  ont  the  blood,  viz.  one  into  the 
lungs,  in  the  first  instance;  the  other  into  the  mass,  after 
't  has  returned  from  the  lungs:,  two  others  also,  called 
auricles,  which  receive  the  blood  from  the  veins;  viz.  one, 
as  it  comes  immediately  from  the  body;  the  other,  as  the 
same  blood  comes  a second  time  after  its  circulation 
through  the  lungs.  So  that  there  are  two  receiving  cavi- 
ties, and  two  forcing  cavities.  The  structure  of  the  heart 
has  reference  to  the  lungs;  for  without  the  lungs,  one  ©f 
each  would  have  been  sufficient.  The  translation  of  the 
blood  in  the  heart  itself  is  after  this  manner.  The  receiv- 
ing cavities  respectively  communicate  with  the  forcing 
cavities,  and,  by  their  contraction,  unload  the  received 
blood  into  them.  The  forcing  cavities,  when  it  is  their 
turn  to  contract,  compel  the  same  blood  into  the  mouths  of 
the  arteries. 

The  account  here  given  will  not  convey  to  a reader,  ig 
norant  of  anatomy,  anything  like  an  accurate  notion  of  the 
form,  action,  or  use  of  the  parts,  (nor  can  any  short  and 
popular  account  do  this;)  but  it  is  abundantly  sufficient  to 
testify  contrivance;  and  although  imperfect,  being  true  as 
far  as  it  goes,  may  be  relied  upon  for  the  only  purpose  for 
which  we  offer  it,  the  purpose  of  this  conclusion. 

“ The  wisdom  of  the  Creator,’’  saith  Hamburgher,  is 
in  nothing  seen  more  gloriously  than  in  the  heart.”  And 
how  well  doth  it  execute  its  office!  An  anatomist,  who 
understood  the  structure  of  the  heart,  might  say  before- 
hand that  it  would  play;  but  he  would  expect,  I think, 
from  the  complexity  of  its  mechanism,  and  the  delicacy 
of  many  of  its  parts,  that  it  should  always  be  liable  to  de- 
rangement, or  that  it  would  soon  work  itself  out.  Yet 
shall  this  worderful  machine  go,  night  and  day,  for  eighty 
years  together,  at  the  rate  of  a hundred  thousand  strokes 
every  twenty-four  hours,  having,  at  every  stroiie,  a great 
resistance  to  overcome;  and  shall  continue  this  action  for 
this  length  of  time,  without  disorder  and  without  weari- 
ness. 

But  farther:  from  the  account  which  has  been  given  of 
the  mechanism  of  the  heart,  it  is  evident  that  it  must  re- 
quire the  interposition  of  valves;  that  the  success  indeed 


96 


OF  THE  VESSELS 


of  its  action  must  depend  upon  these;  for  when  any  one  of 
its  cavities  contracts,  the  necessary  tendency  of  the  force 
will  be  to  drive  the  enclosed  blood,  not  only  into  the  mouth 
of  the  artery  where  it  ought  to  go,  but  also  back  again  in- 
to the  mouth  of  the  vein  from  which  it  flowed.  In  like 
manner,  when  by  the  relaxation  of  the  fibres  the  same  cav- 
ity is  dilated,  the  blood  would  not  only  run  into  it  from  the 
vein,  which  was  the  course  intended,  but  back  from  the  ar- 
tery, through  which  it  ought  to  be  moving  forward.  Tlie 
way  of  preventing  a reflux  of  the  fluid,  in  both  these  cases, 
is  to  fix  valves,  which,  like  flood-gates,  may  open  a way  to 
the  stream  in  one  direction,  and  shut  up  the  passage  against 
it  in  another.  [PI.  XVII.  fig.  2,  3,  4.]  The  heart,  constitut- 
ed as  it  is,  can  no  more  work  without  valves  than  a pump 
can.  When  the  piston  descends  in  a pump,  if  it  were  not 
for  the  stoppage  by  the  valve  beneath,  the  motion  would 
only  thrust  down  the  water  which  it  had  before  drawn  up. 
A similar  consequence  would  frustrate  the  action  of  the 
heart.  Valves,  therefore,  properly  disposed,  i.  e.  properly 
with  respect  to  the  course  of  the  blood  which  it  is  neces- 
sary to  promote,  are  essential  to  the  contrivance.  Jlnd 
valves  so  disposed,  are  accordmgly  provided,  A valve  is 
placed  in  the  communication  between  each  auricle  and  its 
ventricle,  lest  when  the  ventricle  contracts,  part  of  the  blood 
should  get  back  again  into  the  auricle,  instead  of  the  whole 
entering,  as  it  ought  to  do,  the  mouth  of  the  artery.  A valve 
is  also  fixed  at  the  mouth  of  each  of  the  great  arteries  which 
take  the  blood  from  the  heart;  leaving  the  passage  free,  so 
long  as  the  blood  holds  its  proper  course  forward;  closing 
it,  whenever  the  blood,  in  consequence  of  the  relaxation  of 
the  ventricle,  would  attempt  to  flow  back.  There  is  some 
variety  in  the  construction  of  these  valves,  though  all  the 
valves  of  the  body  act  nearly  upon  the  same  principle,  and 
are  destined  to  the  same  use.  In  general  they  consist  of 
a thin  membrane,  lying  close  to  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and 
consequently  allowing  an  open  passage  whilst  the  stream 
rrans  one  way,  but  thrust  out  from  the  side  by  the  fluid  get- 
ting behind  it,  and  opposing  the  passage  of  the  blood,  when 
it  would  flow  the  other  way.*  Where  more  than  one  mem- 
brane is  employed,  the  different  membranes  only  compose 

* The  veins  and  absorbent  vessels  present  in  their  cavities  folds  of  a 
parabolic  form,  called  valves,  like  the  semilunar  valve;  the  one  edge 
adheres  to  the  sides  of  the  vein,  the  other  is  loose;  the  first  is  farthest 
from  the  heart,  the  other  nearer.  The  number  of  valves  is  greatest  where 
the  blood  flows  contrary  to  the  force  of  its  own  weight.  See  Fig.  7. 

Paxton 


OF  ANIMAL  BODIES. 


97 


one  va  ve  Their  joint  action  fulfils  the  office  of  a valve: 
for  instance ; over  the  entrance  of  the  right  auricle  of  the 
heart  into  the  right  ventricle,  three  of  these  skins  or  mem- 
branes' are  fixed,  of  a triangular  figure,  the  bases  of  the 
triangles  fastened  to  the  flesh;  the  sides  and  summits 
loose;  but,  though  loose,  connected  by  threads  of  a deter- 
minate length,  with  certain  small  fleshy  prominences  ad- 
joining. 'J'he  effect  of  this  construction  is,  that,  when  the 
ventricle  contracts,  the  blood  endeavouring  to  escape  in  all 
directions,  and  amongst  other  directions  pressing  upwards, 
gets  between  these  membranes  and  the  sides  of  the  heart; 
and  thereby  forces  them  up  into  such  a position,  as  that, 
together,  they  constitute,  when  raised,  a hollow  cone,  (the 
strings,  before  spoken  of,  hindering  them  from  proceeding 
or  separating  farther;)  which  cone,  entirely  occupying  the 
passage,  prevents  the  return  of  the  blood  into  the  auricle. 
A shorter  account  of  the  matter  may  be  this:  So  long  as  the 
blood  proceeds  in  its  proper  course,  the  membranes  which 
compose  the  valve  are  pressed  close  to  the  side  of  the  ves- 
sel, and  occasion  no  impediment  to  the  circulation:  when 
the  blood  would  regurgitate,  they  are  raised  from  the  side 
of  the  vessel,  and,  meeting  in  the  middle  of  its  cavity,  shut 
up  the  channel.  Can  any  one  doubt  of  contrivance  here; 
or  is  it  possible  to  shut  our  eyes  against  the  proof  of  it.^ 
This  valve,  also,  is  not  more  curious  in  its  structure, 
than  it  is  important  in  its  office.  Upon  the  play  of  the 
valve,  even  upon  the  proportioned  length  of  the  strings  or 
fibres  which  check  the  ascent  of  the  membranes,  depends, 
as  it  should  seem,  nothing  less  than  the  life  itself  of  the 
animal.  We  may  here  likewise  repeat,  what  we  before  ob- 
served concerning  some  of  the  ligaments  of  the  body,  that 
they  could  not  be  formed  by  any  action  of  the  parts  them- 
selves. There  are  cases  in  which,  although  good  uses  ap- 
pear to  arise  from  the  shape  or  configuration  of  a part,  yet 
that  shape  or  configuration  itself  may  seem  to  be  produced 
by  the  action  of  the  part,  or  by  the  action  or  pressure  of 
adjoining  parts.  Thus  the  bend,  and  the  internal  smooth 
concavity  of  the  ribs,  may  be  attributed  to  the  equal  pres- 
sure of  the  soft  bowels;  the  particular  shape  of  some  bones 
and  joints,  to  the  traction  of  the  annexed  muscles,  or  to 
the  position  of  contiguous  muscles.  But  valves  could  not 
be  so  formed.  Action  and  pressure  are  all  against  them. 
The  blood,  in  its  proper  course,  has  no  tendency  to  pro- 
duce such  things;  and,  in  its  improper  or  reflected  current, 
has  a tendency  to  prevent  their  production.  Whilst  we 
see,  therefore,  the  se  and  necessity  of  this  machinery,  we 

1 


98 


OF  THE  VESSELS 


can  look  to  no  other  account  of  its  origin  or  formation  thaJ5 
the  intending  mind  of  a Creator.  Nor  can  we  without  ao- 
miration  reflect,  that  such  thin  membranes,  such  weak  ami 
tender  instruments,  as  these  valves  are,  should  be  able  t<> 
hold  out  for  seventy  or  eighty  years. 

Here  also  we  cannot  consider  but  with  gratitude,  how 
happy  it  is  that  our  vital  motions  are  involiintarij , ‘We 
should  have  enough  to  do,  if  we  had  to  keep  our  hearts 
beating,  and  our  stomachs  at  work.  Did  these  things  de 
pend,  we  will  not  say  upon  our  effort,  but  upon  our  bidding, 
our  care,  or  our  attention,  they  would  leave  us  leisure  for 
nothing  else.  We  must  have  been  continually  upon  the 
watch,  and  continually  in  fear;  nor  would  this  constitution 
have  allowed  of  sleep. 

It  might  perhaps  be  expected,  that  an  organ  so  precious, 
of  such  central  and  primary  importance  as  the  heart  is, 
should  be  defended  by  a case.  The  fact  is,  that  a mem- 
branous purse  or  bag,  made  of  strong,  tough  materials,  ig 
provided  for  it ; holding  the  heart  within  its  cavity ; sitting 
loosely  and  easily  about  it;  guarding  its  substance,  without 
confining  its  motion;  and  containing  likewise  a spoonful 
or  two  of  water,  just  sufficient  to  keep  the  surface  of  the 
heart  in  a state  of  suppleness  and  moisture.  How  should 
such  a loose  covering  be  generated  by  the  action  of  the 
heart?  Does  not  the  enclosing  of  it  in  a sack,  answering 
no  other  purpose  but  that  enclosure,  show  the  care  that  has 
been  taken  of  its  preservation? 

One  use  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood  probably  (amongst 
other  uses)  is,  to  distribute  nourishment  to  the  different 
parts  of  the  body.  How  minute  and  multiplied  the  ramifi- 
cations of  the  blood-vessels,  for  that  purpose,  are;  and 
how  thickly  spread,  over  at  least  the  superfices  of  the  body, 
is  proved  by  the  single  observation,  that  we  cannot  prick 
the  point  of  a pin  into  the  flesh,  without  drawing  blood, 
i.  e.  without  finding  a blood-vessel.  Nor,  internally,  is  their 
diffusion  less  universal.  Blood-vessels  run  along  the  sur- 
face of  membranes,  pervade  the  substance  of  muscles,  per- 
etrate  the  bones.  Even  into  every  tooth,  we  trace,  through 
a small  hole  in  the  root,  an  artery  to  feed  the  bone,  as  well 
as  a vein  to  bring  back  the  spare  blood  from  it;  both  which, 
with  the  addition  of  an  accompanying  nerve,  form  a thread 
only  a little  thicker  than  a horse-hair. 

Wherefore,  when  the  nourishment  taken  in  at  the  mouth 
has  once  reached,  and  mixed  itself  with  the  blood,  every 
part  of  the  body  is  in  the  way  of  being  supplied  with  it 
And  this  introduces  another  grand  topic,  namely,  the  man- 


OF  ANIMAL  BODIES. 


99 


I er  in  which  the  aliment  gets  into  the  Hood;  which  is  a 
subject  distinct  from  the  preceding,  and  brings  us  to  the 
consideration  of  another  entire  system  of  vessels. 

II.  F or  this  necessary  part  of  the  animal  economy,  an 
apparatus  is  provided,  in  a great  measure  capable  of  being 
what  anatomists  call  demonstrated,  that  is,  shown  in  the 
dead*  body; — and  a line  or  course  of  conveyance,  which  wc3 
can  pursue  by  our  examinations. 

First,  The  food  descends  by  a wide  passage  into  the  in- 
testines, undergoing  two  great  preparations  on  its  way; 
one,  in  the  mouth  by  mastication  and  moisture — (can  it  be 
doubted  with  what  design  the  teeth  were  placed  in  the 
road  to  the  stomach,  or  that  there  was  choice  in  fixing  them 
in  this  situation?)  The  other,  by  digestion  in  the  stomach 
itself.  Of  this  last  surprising  dissolution  I say  nothing; 
because  it  is  chemistry,  and  I am  endeavouring  to  display 
mechanism.  The  figure  and  position  of  the  stomach  (I 
speak  all  along  with  a reference  to  the  human  organ)  are 
calculated  for  detaining  the  food  long  enough  for  the  action 
of  its  digestive  juice.  [PI.  XVIII.  fig.  1.]  It  has  the  shape 
of  the  pouch  of  a bagpipe;  lies  across  the  body;  and  the 
pylorus,  or  passage  by  which  the  food  leaves  it,  is  somewhat 
higher  in  the  body  than  the  cardia,  or  orifice  by  which  it 
enters;  so  that  it  is  by  the  contraction  of  the  muscular 
coat  of  the  stomach,  that  the  contents,  after  having  under- 
gone the  application  of  the  gastric  menstruum,  are  gradually 
pressed  out.  In  dogs  and  cats,  this  action  of  the  coats  of 
the  stomach  has  been  displayed  to  the  eye.  It  is  a slow 
and  gentle  undulation,  propagated  from  one  orifice  of  the 
stomach  to  the  other.  For  the  same  reason  that  I omitted, 
for  the  present,  offering  any  observation  upon  the  digestive 
fluid,  I shall  say  nothing  concerning  the  bile  or  the  pan- 
creatic juice,  farther  than  to  observe  upon  the  mechanism, 
viz.  that  from  the  glands  in  which  these  secretions  are 
elaborated,  pipes  are  laid  into  the  first  of  the  intestines, 
through  which  pipes  the  product  of  each  gland  flows  into 
that  bowel,  [PI.  XVIII.  fig.  2,]  and  is  there  mixed  with 
the  aliment,  as  soon  almost  as  it  passes  the  stomach;  ad- 
ding also  as  a remark,  how  grievously  this  same  bile  of- 
fends the  stomach  itself,  yet  cherishes  the  vessel  that  lies 
next  to  it. 

Secondly,  We  have  now  the  aliment  in  the  intestines 
converted  into  pulp;  and,  though  lately  consisting  of  ten 
different  viands,  reduced  to  nearly  a uniform  substance, 
and  to  a state  fitted  for  yielding  its  essence,  which  is  called 
chyle,  but  which  is  milk,  or  more  nearly  re.sembiing  milk 


100 


OF  THE  VESSELS 


than  any  other  liquor  with  which  it  can  be  compared.  Fcf 
the  straining  off  this  fluid  from  the  digested  aliment  in  the 
course  of  its  long  progress  through  the  body,  myriads  of 
capillary  tubes,  i.  e.  pipes  as  small  as  hairs,  open  their  ori- 
fices into  the  cavity  of  every  part  of  the  intestines.  [PI. 
XIX.]  These  tubes,  which  are  so  fine  and  slender  as  not 
to  be  visible  unless  when  distended  with  chyle,  soon  unite 
into  larger  branches.  The  pipes,  formed  by  this  union, 
terminate  in  glands,  from  which  other  pipes  of  a still  larger 
diameter  arising,  carry  the  chyle  from  all  parts,  into  a 
common  reservoir  or  receptacle.  This  receptacle  is  a 
bag  large  enough  to  hold  about  a table-spoon  full;  and  from 
this  vessel  a duct  or  main  pipe  proceeds,  climbing  up  the 
back  part  of  the  chest,  and  afterwards  creeping  along  the 
gullet  till  it  reach  the  neck.  Here  it  meets  the  river:  here 
it  d scharges  itself  into  a large  vein,  which  soon  conveys 
the  chyle,  now  flowing  along  with  the  old  blood,  to  the 
heart.  This  whole  route  can  be  exhibited  to  the  eye; 
nothing  is  left  to  be  supplied  by  imagination  or  conjec- 
ture. Now,  beside  the  subserviency  of  this  whole  structure, 
to  a manifest  and  necessary  purpose,  we  may  remark  two 
or  three  separate  particulars  in  it,  which  show,  not  only  the 
contrivance,  but  the  perfection  of  it.  We  may  remark, 
first,  the  length  of  the  intestines,  which,  in  the  human  sub- 
ject, is  six  times  that  of  the  body.  Simply  for  a passage, 
these  voluminous  bowels,  this  prolixity  of  gut,  seems  in  no- 
wise necessary;  but,  in  order  to  allow  time  and  space  for 
the  successive  extraction  of  the  chyle  from  the  digested 
aliment,  namely  that  the  chyle  which  escapes  the  lacteals 
of  one  part  of  the  guts,  may  be  taken  up  by  those  of  some 
other  part,  the  length  of  the  canal  is  of  evident  use  and 
conduciveness.  Secondly,  we  must  also  remark  their  per- 
istaltic motion ; which  is  made  up  of  contractions,  follow- 
ing one  another  like  waves  upon  the  surface  of  a fluid,  and 
not  unlike  w'hat  we  observe  in  the  body  of  an  earth-worm 
crawling  along  the  ground;  and  which  is  effected  by  the 
joint  action  of  longitudinal  and  of  spiral,  or  rather  perhaps 
of  a great  number  of  separate  semicircular  fibres.  This 
curious  action  pushes  forw^ard  the  grosser  part  of  the  ali- 
ment, a the  same  tim3  that  the  more  subtile  parts,  which 
we  call  chyle,  are,  by  a series  of  gentle  compressions, 
squeezed  into  the  narrow  orifices  of  the  lacteal  vessels. 
Thirdly,  it  w’as  necessary  that  these  tubes, wdiich  w’e  denom- 
inate lacteals,  or  their  mouths  at  least,  should  he  as  nar- 
row as  possible,  in  order  to  deny  admission  into  the  blood 
to  any  particle  which  is  of  size  enough  to  make  a lodge- 


OF  ANIMAL  BODIES. 


101 


merit  afterwards  in  the  small  arteries,  and  thereby  to  ob- 
struct the  circulation:  and  it  was  also  necessary  that  this 
extreme  tenuity  should  be  compensated  by  multitude;  for, 
a large  quantity  of  chyle  (in  ordinary  constitutions,  not 
less,  it  has  been  computed,  than  two  or  three  quarts  in  a 
day)  is,  by  some  means  or  other,  to  be  passed  through 
them.  Accordingly,  we  find  the  number  of  the  lacteals 
exceeding  all  powers  of  computation ; and  their  pipes  so 
fine  and  slender,  as  not  to  be  visible,  unless  filled,  to  the  nak- 
ed eye;  and  their  orifices,  which  open  into  the  intestines, 
so  small,  as  not  to  be  discernible  even  by  the  best  micro- 
scope. Fourthly,  the  main  pipe,  which  carries  the  chyle 
from  the  reservoir  to  the  blood,  viz.  the  thoracic  duct,  be- 
ing fixed  in  an  almost  upright  position,  and  wanting  that 
advantage  of  propulsion  which  the  arteries  possess,  is  fur- 
nished with  a succession  of  valves  to  check  the  ascending 
fluid,  when  once  it  has  passed  them,  from  falling  back 
These  valves  look  upward,  so  as  to  leave  the  ascent  free, 
but  to  prevent  the  return  of  the  chyle,  if,  for  want  of  suffi- 
cient force  to  push  it  on,  its  weight  should  at  any  time 
cause  it  to  descend.  Fifthly,  the  chyle  enters  the  blood 
in  an  odd  place,  but  perhaps  the  most  commodious  place 
possible,  viz.  at  a large  vein  near  the  neck,  so  situated  with 
respect  to  the  circulation,  as  speedily  to  bring  the  mixture 
to  the  heart.  And  this  seems  to  be  a circumstance  of 
great  moment;  for  had  the  chyle  entered  the  blood  at  an 
artery,  or  at  a distant  vein,  the  fluid,  composed  of  the  old 
and  new  materials,  must  have  performed  a considerable 
part  of  the  circulation,  before  it  received  that  churning  in 
tlie  lungs,  which  is  probably,  necessary  for  the  intimate 
and  perfect  union  of  the  old  blood  with  the  recent  chyle. 
Who  could  have  dreamed  of  a communication  between  the 
cavity  of  the  intestines  and  the  left  great  vein  near  the 
nechl  Who  could  have  suspected  tha,t  this  communication 
should  be  the  medium  through  which  all  nourishment  is 
derived  to  the  body.^  or  this  the  place,  where,  by  a side 
inlet,  the  important  junction  is  formed  between  the  blood 
and  the  material  which  feeds  it? 

II.  We  postponed  the  consideration  of  digestion,  lest  d 
should  interrupt  us  in  tracing  the  course  of  the  food  to  ue 
blood;  but,  in  treating  of  the  alimentary  system,  so  prin- 
cipal a part  of  the  process  cannot  be  omitted. 

Of  the  gastric  juice,  the  immediate  agent  by  which  that 
change  which  food  undergoes  in  our  stomachs  is  effected, 
we  shall  take  our  account,  from  the  numerous,  careful,  and 
varied  experiments  of  the  Abbe  Spallanzani. 

I* 


102 


OF  THE  VESSELS 


1.  It  is  not  a simple  diluent,  but  a real  solvent.  A 
quarter  of  an  ounce  of  beef  had  scarcely  touched  the  sto- 
mach of  a crow,  when  the  solution  began. 

2.  It  has  not  the  nature  of  saliva;  it  has  not  the  nature 
of  bile;  but  is  distinct  from  both.  By  experiments  out  of 
the  body  it  appears,  that  neither  of  these  secretions  acts 
upon  the  alimentary  substances,  in  the  same  manner  as  the 
gastric  juice  acts. 

3 Digestion  is  not  putrefaction ; for,  the  digesting  fluid 
resists  putrefaction  most  pertinaciously;  nay,  not  only 
checks  its  farther  progress,  but  restores  putrid  substances 

4.  It  is  not  a fermentative  process;  for  the  solution 
begins  at  the  surface,  and  proceeds  towards  the  centre, 
contrary  to  the  order  in  which  fermentation  acts  and 
spreads. 

o.  It  is  not  the  digestion  of  heat,  for,  the  cold  maw  of 
a cod  or  sturgeon  will  dissolve  the  shells  of  crabs  or  lob- 
sters, harder  than  the  sides  of  the  stomach  which  contains 
them. 

In  a word,  animal  digestion  carries  about  it  the  marks  of 
being  a power  and  a process  completely  sui  generis;  dis- 
tinct from  every  other;  at  least  from  every  chemical  pro- 
cess with  which  we  are  acquainted.  And  the  most  wonder- 
ful thing  about  it  is  its  appropriation;  its  subserviency  to 
the  particular  economy  of  each  animal.  The  gastric  juice 
of  an  owl,  falcon,  or  kite,  will  not  touch  grain ; no,  not 
even  to  finish  the  macerated  and  half-digested  pulse  which 
is  left  in  the  crops  of  the  sparrows  that  the  bird  devours. 
In  poultry,  the  trituration  of  the  gizzard,  and  the  gastric 
juice,  conspire  in  the  work  of  digestion.  The  gastric  juice 
will  not  dissolve  the  grain  whilst  it  is  whole.  Entire  grains 
of  barley,  enclosed  in  tubes  or  spherules,  are  not  affected 
by  it.  But  if  the  same  grain  be  by  any  means  broken  or 
ground,  the  gastric  juice  immediately  lays  hold  of  it.  Here 
then  is  wanted,  and  here  we  find,  a combination  of  mechan- 
ism and  chemistry.  For  the  preparatory  grinding,  the  giz- 
zard lends  its  mill.  And,  as  all  mill-work  should  be  strong, 
its  structure  is  so,  beyond  that  of  any  other  muscle  belonging 
to  the  animal.  The  internal  coat  also,  or  lining  of  the  giz- 
zard, is,  for  the  same  purpose,  hard  and  cartilaginous.  But, 
forasmuch  as  this  is  not  the  sort  of  animal  substance  suited 
for  the  reception  of  glands,  or  for  secretion,  the  gastric  juice  • 
in  this  family,  is  not  supplied,  as  in  membranous  stomachs, 
by  the  stomach  itself,  but  by  the  gullet,  in  which  the  feed- 
ing glands  are  placed,  and  from  which  it  trickles  down  into 
ihe  stomach. 


OF  ANIMAL  BODIES 


103 


In  Siieep , the  gastric  fluid  has  no  efTect  in  digesting 
plants,  unless  they  have  been  previously  masticated.  It  only 
produces  a slight  maceration ; nearly  such  as  common  wa- 
ter would  produce,  in  a degree  of  heat  somewhat  exceed- 
ing the  medium  temperature  of  the  atmosphere.  But  pro- 
vided that  the  plant  has  been  reduced  to  pieces  by  chewing, 
the  gastric  juice  then  proceeds  with  it,  first  by  softening  its 
substance;  next,  by  destroying  its  natural  consistency;  and, 
lastly,  by  dissolving  it  so  completely,  as  not  even  to  spare 
the  toughest  and  most  stringy  parts,  such  as  the  nerves  of 
the  leaves. 

So  far  our  accurate  and  indefatigable  Abbe. — ^Dr.  Ste- 
vens of  Edinburgh,  in  1777,  found,  by  experiments  tried 
with  perforated  balls,  that  the  gastric  juice  of  the  sheep  and 
the  ox  speedily  dissolved  vegetables,  but  made  no  impres- 
sion upon  beef,  mutton,  and  other  animal  bodies.  Dr.  Hun- 
ter discovered  a property  of  this  fluid,  of  a most  curious 
kind;  viz.  that  in  the  stomachs  of  animals  which  feed  up- 
on flesh,  irresistibly  as  this  fluid  acts  upon  animal  substan- 
ces, it  is  only  upon  the  dead  substance,  that  it  operates  at 
all.  The  living  fibre  suffers  no  injury  from  lying  in  con- 
tact with  it.  Worms  and  insects  are  found  alive  in  the 
stomachs  of  such  animals.  The  coats  of  the  human  stom- 
ach, in  a healthy  state,  are  insensible  to  its  presence:  yet, 
in  cases  of  sudden  death,  (wherein  the  gastric  juice,  not 
having  been  weakened  by  disease,  retains  its  activity,)  it 
has  been  known  to  eat  a hole  through  the  bowel  which  con- 
tains it.*  How  nice  is  this  discrimination  of  action,  yet 
how  necessary.^ 

But  to  return  to  our  hydraulics. 

III.  The  gall-bladder  is  a very  remarkable  contrivance 
It  is  the  reservoir  of  a canal.  [PI.  XVIII.  fig.  1,  2.]  It 
does  not  form  the  channel  itself,  i,  e.  the  direct  communi- 
cation between  the  liver  and  the  intestine  which  is  by  an- 
other passage,  viz.  the  ductus  hepaticus,  continued  under 
the  name  of  the  ductus  communis;  but  it  lies  adjacent  to 
this  channel,  joining  it  by  a duct  of  its  own,  the  ductus 
cysticus;  by  which  structure  it  is  enabled,  as  occasion 
may  require,  to  add  its  contents  to,  and  increase  the  flow 
of  bile  into  the  duodenum.  And  the  position  of  the  gall- 
bladder is  such  as  to  apply  this  structure  to  the  best  advan- 
tage. In  its  natural  situation,  it  touches  the  exterior  sur- 
face of  the  stomach,  and  consequently  is  compressed  by  the 
distension  of  that  vessel:  the  effect  of  which  compression 


Phil.  Trans,  vol.  Ixii.  p.  447. 


104 


OF  THE  VESSELS 


is,  to  force  out  frotn  the  bag,  and  send  into  the  duodenum^ 
an  extraordinary  quantity  of  bile,  to  meet  the  extraordinar}' 
demand  which  the  repletion  of  the  stomach  by  food  is  about 
to  occasion.*  Cheselden  describesi  the  gall-bladder  as 
seated  against  the  duodenum,  and  thereby  liable  to  have  its 
fluid  pressed  out,  by  the  passage  of  the  aliment  through  that 
cavity;  which  likewise  v/ill  ‘lave  the  effect  of  causing  it  to 
be  received  into  the  intestine,  at  a right  time,  and  in  a due 
proportion. 

There  may  be  other  purposes  answered  by  this  contri* 
vance;  and  it  is  probable  that,  there  are.  The  contents  of 
the  gall-bladder  are  not  exactly  of  the  same  kind  as  what 
passes  from  the  liver  through  the  direct  passage. J It  is 
possible  that  the  gall  may  be  changed,  and  for  some  pur- 
poses meliorated,  by  keeping. 

The  entrance  of  the  gall-duct  into  the  duodenum,  furnish- 
es another  observation.  Whenever  either  smaller  tubes 
are  inserted  into  larger  tubes,  or  tubes  into  vessels  and 
cavities,  such  receiving  tubes,  vessels,  or  cavities,  being 
subject  to  muscular  constriction,  we  always  find  a con- 
trivance to  prevent  gurgitation.  In  some  cases,  valves 
are  used;  in  other  cases,  amongst  which  is  that  now  be- 
fore us,  a different  expedient  is  resorted  to;  which  m.ay 
be  thus  described:  The  gall-duct  enters  the  duodenum 
obliquely:  after  it  has  pierced  the  first  coat,  it  runs  near 
two  fingers’  breadth  between  the  coats,  before  it  opens  into 
the  cavity  of  the  intestine.^  The  same  contrivance  is  used 
in  another  part,  where  there  is  exactly  the  same  occasion 
for  it,  viz.  in  the  insertion  of  the  ureters  in  the  bladder. 
These  enter  the  bladder  near  its  neck,  running  obliquely  for 
the  space  of  an  inch  between  its  coats.  ||  It  is,  in  both 
cases,  sufficiently  evident,  that  this  structure  has  a ne- 
cessary mechanical  tendency  to  resist  regurgitation;  for, 
whatever  force  acts  in  such  a direction  as  to  urge  the  fluid 
back  into  the  orifices  of  the  tubes,  must,  at  the  same  time, 
stretch  the  coats  of  the  vessels,  and  thereby  compress  that 
part  of  the  tube,  which  is  included  between  them. 

IV.  Amongst  the  vessels  of  the  human  body,  the  pipe 
which  conveys  the  saliva  from  the  place  where  it  is  made, 
to  the  place  where  it  is  wanted,  deserves  to  be  reckoned 
amongst  the  most  intelligible  pieces  of  mechanism  with 
which  we  are  acquainted.  [PI.  XX.  fig.  1, 2.]  The  saliva, 
we  all  know,  is  used  in  the  mouth;  but  much  of  it  is 

* Keill’s  Anat.  p.  64.  t Anat.  p.  164 

i Keill's  from  !\Ialpigluus,  p.  62.  § Keill’s  Anat.  p.  62. 

11  dies.  Auat.  p.  2 50. 


OF  ANIMAL  BODIES. 


105 


manufactured  on  the  outside  of  the  cheek,  by  the  parotid 
gland,  whiiih  lies  between  the  ear  and  the  angle  of  the  low- 
er jaw.  In  order  to  carry  the  secretion  to  its  destina- 
tion, there  is  laid  from  the  gland,  on  the  outside,  a pipe 
about  the  thickness  of  a wheat  straw,  and  about  three  fin- 
gers’ breadth  in  length;  which,  after  riding  over  the  masse- 
ter  muscle,  bores  for  itself  a hole  through  the  very  middle 
of  the  cheek;  enters  by  that  hole,  which  is  a complete  per- 
foration of  the  buccinator  muscle,  into  the  mouth;  ard  there 
discharges  its  fluid  very  copiously. 

V.  Another  exquisite  structure,  differing  indeed  from 
the  four  preceding  instances  in  that  it  does  not  relate  to 
the  conveyance  of  fluids,  but  still  belonging,  like  these,  to 
the  class  of  pipes,  or  conduits  of  the  body,  is  seen  in  the 
larynx.  [PI.  XXL  fig.  1,  2.]  We  all  know  that  there  go 
down  the  throat  two  pipes,  one  leading  to  the  stomach,  the 
other  to  the  lungs ; the  one  being  the  passage  for  the  food, 
the  other  for  the  breath  and  voice:  we  know  also  that  both 
these  passages  open  into  the  bottom  of  the  mouth;  the  gullet, 
necessarily,  for  the  conveyance  of  the  food;  and  the  wind- 
pipe, for  speech,  and  the  modulation  of  sound,  not  much 
less  so;  therefore  the  difficulty  was,  the  passages  being  so 
contiguous,  to  prevent  the  food,  especially  the  liquids,  which 
we  swallow  into  the  stomach,  from  entering  the  windpipe, 
i.  e.  the  road  to  the  lungs;  the  consequence  of  which  er- 
ror, when  it  does  happen,  is  perceived  by  the  convulsive 
throes  that  are  instantly  produced.  This  business,  which 
is  very  nice,  is  managed  in  this  manner.  The  gullet  (the 
passage  for  food)  opens  into  the  mouth  like  the  cone  or 
upper  part  of  a funnel,  the  capacity  of  which  forms  indeed 
the  bottom  of  the  mouth.  Into  the  side  of  this  funnel,  at 
the  part  which  lies  the  lowest,  enters  the  windpipe,  by  a 
chink  or  slit,  with  a lid  or  flap,  like  a little  tongue,  accu- 
rately fitted  to  the  orifice.  The  solids  or  liquids  which  we 
swallow,  pass  over  this  lid  or  flap,  as  they  descend  by  the 
funnel  into  the  gullet  Both  the  weight  of  the  food,  and 
the  action  of  the  musc.es  concerned  i.i  swallowing,  con- 
tribute to  keep  the  lid  close  down  upon  the  aperture,  whilst 
anything  is  passing;  whereas,  by  means  of  its  natural  car- 
tilaginous spring,  it  raises  itself  a little  as  soon  as  the  food 
is  passed,  thereby  allowing  a free  inlet  and  outlet  for  the 
respiration  of  air  by  the  lungs.  And  we  may  here  remark 
the  almost  complete  success  of  the  expedient,  viz.  how  sel- 
dom it  fails  of  its  purpose,  compared  with  the  number  of 
instances  in  which  it  fulfils  it.  Reflect  how  frequently  we 
swallow  how  constantly  we  breathe.  In  a city  feast,  for 


106 


OF  THE  VESSELS 


example,  what  deglutition,  what  anhelation!  yet  does  this 
little  cartilage ; he  epiglottis,  so  effectually  interpose  its  of- 
fice, so  securely  guard  the  entrance  of  the  windpipe,  that 
whilst  morsel  after  morsel,  draught  after  draught,  are  cours- 
ing one  another  over  it,  an  accident  of  a crumb  or  a drop 
slipping  into  this  passage,  (which  nevertheless  must  be 
opened  for  the  breath  every  second  of  time,)  excites  in  the 
whole  company,  not  only  alarm  by  its  danger,  but  surprise 
by  its  novelty.  Not  two  guests  are  choked  in  a century.^ 

There  is  nO  room  for  pretending  that  the  action  of  the 
parts  may  have  gradually  formed  the  epiglottis:  I do  not 
mean  in  the  same  individual,  but  in  a succession  of  genera- 
tions. Not  only  the  action  of  the  parts  has  no  such  ten- 
dency, but  the  animal  could  not  live,  nor  consequently  the 
parts  act,  either  without  it,  or  with  it  in  a half-formed  state. 
The  species  w^as  not  to  wait  for  the  gradual  formation  or 
expansion  of  a part  which  was,  from  the  first,  necessary  to 
the  life  of  the  individual. 

Not  only  is  the  larynx  curious,  but  the  whole  windpipe 
possesses  a structure  adapted  to  its  peculiar  office.  It  is 
made  up  (as  any  one  may  perceive  by  putting  his  fingers 
to  his  throat)  of  stout  cartilaginous  ringlets  placed  at 
small  and  equal  distances  from  one  another.  Now  this  is 
not  the  case  with  any  other  of  the  numerous  conduits  of 
the  body.  The  use  of  these  cartilages  is  to  keep  the  pas- 
sage for  the  air  constantly  open;  which  they  do  mechanic- 
ally. A pipe  with  soft  membranous  coats,  liable  to  col- 
lapse and  close  when  empty,  would  not  have  answered  here ; 
although  this  be  the  general  vascular  structure,  and  a 
structure  which  serves  very  well  for  those  tubes  which  are 
kept  in  a state  of  perpetual  distension  by  the  fluid  they  en- 
close, or  which  afford  a passage  to  solid  and  protruding 
substances. 

Nevertheless  (which  is  another  particularity  well  worthy 

* The  same  general  structure  of  these  parts  is  found  in  all  other  animals 
of  the  same  class  with  mankind,  but  there  is  a singular  variation  from  it 
in  the  elephant,  by  which,  if  possible,  the  influence  of  a deriving  intelli- 
gence is  more  wonderfully  exemplified  than  in  the  ordinary  structure.  It 
is  well  known  that  this  animal  drinks  by  sucking  up  the  liquid  into  its 
trunk,  and  then  after  thrusting  the  end  of  it  into  its  mouth,  blowing  the 
liquid  into  its  throat.  In  this  case,  the  act  of  blowing  through  the  trunk 
and  swallowing,  must  be  both  going  on  at  the  same  instant,  and  not  in 
successive  instants  as  in  man.  I he  liquid  must  be  passing  down  the 
throat,  while  the  epiglottis  is  open  and  the  air  issuing.  In  order  to  pro- 
vide against  interfer  3nce,  a channel  is  provided  04i  each  side  of  the  epig- 
lottis, along  which  ',e  drink  passes  quietly  on,  without  running  into  the 
windpipe. — Kd, 


OF  ANIMAL  BOD.  ES. 


07 


of  notice)  these  r„igs  are  not  complete,  that  is,  are  not  car- 
tilaginous and  stiff  all  round;  but  their  hinder  part,  which 
is  contiguous  to  the  gullet,  is  membranous  and  soft,  easily 
yielding  to  the  distensions  of  that  organ  occasioned  by  the 
descent  of  solid  food.  The  same  rings  are  also  bevelled  off 
at  the  upper  and  lower  edges,  the  better  to  close  upon  one 
another,  when  the  trachea  is  compressed  or  shortened. 

The  constitution  of  the  trachea  may  suggest  likewise  an 
other  reflection.  The  membrane  which  lines  its  inside,  is 
perhaps,  the  most  sensible  irritable  membrane  of  the  body 
It  rejects  the  touch  of  a crumb  of  bread,  or  a drop  of  water, 
with  a spasm  which  convulses  the  whole  frame;  yet,  left  to 
itself,  and  its  proper  ofhce,  the  intromission  of  air  alone, 
nothing  can  be  so  quiet.  It  does  not  even  make  itself  felt ; 
a man  does  not  know  that  he  has  a trachea.  This  capaci- 
ty of  perceiving  with  such  acuteness,  this  impatience  of 
offence,  yet  perfect  rest  and  ease  when  let  alone;  are  pro- 
perties, one  would  have  thought,  not  likely  to  reside  in  the 
same  subject.  It  is  to  the  junction,  however,  of  these  al- 
most inconsistent  qualities,  in  this,  as  well  as  in  some  other 
delicate  parts  of  the  body,  that  we  owe  our  safety  and  our 
comfort; — our  safety  to  their  sensibility,  our  comfort  to 
their  repose. 

The  larynx,  or  rather  the  whole  windpipe  taken  together, 
(for  the  larynx  is  only  the  upper  part  of  the  windpipe,)  be- 
sides its  other  uses,  is  also  a musical  instrument,  that  is  to 
say,  it  is  mechanism  expressly  adapted  to  the  modulation  of 
sound;  for  it  has  been  found  upon  trial,  that,  by  relaxing 
or  tightening  the  tendinous  bands  at  the  extremity  of  the 
windpipe,  and  blowing  in  at  the  other  end,  all  the  cries 
and  notes  might  be  produced  of  which  the  living  animal 
was  capable.  It  can  be  sounded,  just  as  a pipe  or  flute  is 
sounded.  Birds,  says  Bonnet,  have  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  windpipe,  a conformation  like  the  reed  of  a hautboy, 
for  the  modulation  of  their  notes.  A tuneful  bird  is  a ven- 
triloquist. The  seat  of  the  song  is  in  the  breast.  [PL 
XXI.  fig.  3.] 

The  use  of  the  lungs  in  the  system  has  been  said  to  be 
obscure:  one  use  however  is  plain,  though,  in  some  sense, 
externa]  to  the  system,  and  that  is,  the  formation,  in  con- 
junction with  the  larynx,  of  voice  and  speech.  They  are,  to 
animal  utterance,  what  the  bellows  are  to  the  organ. 

For  the  sake  of  method,  we  have  considered  animal  bo- 
dies under  three  divisions:  their  bones,  their  muscles,  and 
their  vessels;  and  we  have  stated  our  observations  upon 


108 


OF  THE  VESSELS  OF  ANIMAL  BODIES. 


.hese  parts  separately.  But  this  is  to  diminish  the  strength 
of  the  argument.  The  wisdom  of  the  Creator  is  seen,  not 
in  their  separate  but  their  collective  action;  in  their  mutu- 
al subserviency  and  dependence;  in  their  contributing  to- 
gether to  one  effect,  and  one  use.  It  has  been  said,  that  a 
man  cannot  lift  his  hand  to  his  head,  without  finding  enough 
to  convince  him  of  the  existence  of  a God.  And  it  is  well 
said;  for  he  has  only  to  reflect,  familiar  as  this  action  is, 
and  simple  as  it  seems  to  be,  how  many  things  are  requisite 
for  the  performing  of  it;  how  many  things  which  we  under- 
stand, to  say  nothing  of  many  more,  probably,  which  we 
do  not;  viz.  first,  a long,  hard,  strong  cylinder,  in  order  to 
give  to  the  arm  its  firmness  and  tension;  but  which,  being 
rigid,  and  in  its  substance  inflexible,  can  only  turn  upon 
joints:  secondly,  therefore,  joints  for  this  purpose,  one  at 
the  shoulder  to  raise  the  arm,  another  at  the  elbow  to  bend 
it ; these  joints  continually  fed  with  a soft  mucilage  to  make 
the  parts  slip  easily  upon  one  another,  and  holden  together 
by  strong  braces,  to  keep  them  in  their  position:  then,  third- 
ly, strings  and  wires,  i.  e.  muscles  and  tendons,  artificially 
iii.serted  for  the  purpose  of  drawing  the  bones  in  the  direc- 
tions in  which  the  joints  allow  them  to  move.  Hitherto  we 
seem  to  understand  the  mechanism  pretty  well;  and,  under- 
standing this,  we  possess  enough  for  our  conclusion:  never- 
theless, we  have  hitherto  only  a machine  standing  still;  a 
dead  organization — an  apparatus.  To  put  the  system  in  a 
state  of  activity,  to  set  it  at  work,  a farther  provision  is  ne- 
cessary, viz.  a communication  with  the  brain  by  means  of 
nerves.  We  know  the  existence  of  this  communication, 
because  we  can  see  the  communicating  threads,  and  can 
trace  them  to  the  brain:  its  necessity  we  also  know,  be- 
cause if  the  thread  be  cut,  if  the  communication  be  inter- 
cepted, the  muscle  becomes  paralytic:  but  beyond  this  we 
know  little,  the  organization  being  too  minute  and  subtile 
for  our  inspection. 

To  what  has  been  enumerated,  as  officiating  in  the  single 
act  of  a man's  raising  his  hand  to  his  head,  must  be  added 
likewise,  all  that  is  necessary,  and  all  that  contributes  to  the 
growth,  nourishment,  and  sustentation  of  the  limb,  the  re- 
pair of  its  waste,  the  preservation  of  its  health:  such  as  the 
circulation  of  the  blood  through  every  part  of  it;  its  lym- 
phatics, exhalants,  absorbents;  its  excretions  and  integu- 
ments. All  these  share  in  the  result;  join  in  the  effect;  and 
how  all  these,  or  any  of  them,  come  together  without  a de- 
signing, disposing  intelligence,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive 


OF  THE  ANIMAL  STRUCTURE,  &C 


100 


CHAPTER  XL 

OF  THE  ANIMAL  STRUCTURE  REGARDED  AS  A MASS. 

Contemplating  an  animal  body  in  its  collective  .capacity, 
we  cannot  forget  to  notice,  what  a number  of  instruments 
are  brought  together,  and  often  within  how  small  a ?om'* 
pass.  It  is  a cluster  of  contrivances.  In  a Canary  bird, 
for  instance,  and  in  the  single  ounce  of  matter  which  com- 
poses its  body,  (but  which  seems  to  be  all  employed,)  we 
have  instruments  for  eating,  for  digesting,  for  nourishment, 
for  breathing,  for  generation,  for  running,  for  flying,  for 
seeing,  for  hearing,  for  smelling,  each  appropriate, — each 
entirely  different  from  all  the  rest. 

The  human,  or  indeed  the  animal  frame,  considered  as 
a mass  or  assemblage,  exhibits  in  its  composition  three 
properties,  which  have  long  struck  my  mind  as  indubitable 
evidences,  not  only  of  design,  but  of  a great  deal  of  atten- 
tion and  accuracy  in  prosecuting  the  design. 

I.  The  first  is,  the  exact  correspondency  of  the  two 
sides  of  the  same  animal;  the  right  hand  answering  to  the 
left,  leg  to  leg,  eye  to  eye,  one  side  of  the  countenance  to 
the  other;  and  with  a precision,  to  imitate  which  in  any 
tolerable  degree,  forms  one  of  the  difficulties  of  statuary, 
and  requires,  on  the  part  of  the  artist,  a constant  attention 
to  this  property  of  his  work,  distinct  from  every  other. 

It  is  the  most  difficult  thing  that  can  be  to  get  a wig 
made  even;  yet  how  seldom  is  the  face  awry!  And  what 
care  is  taken  that  it  should  not  be  so,  the  anatomy  of  its 
bones  demonstrates.  The  upper  part  of  the  face  is  com- 
posed of  thirteen  bones,  six  on  each  side,  answering  each 
to  each,  and  the  thirteenth,  without  a fellow,  in  the  mid- 
dle: the  lower  part  of  the  face  is  in  like  manner  composed 
of  six  bones,  three  on  each  side  respectively  corresponding, 
and  the  lower  jaw  in  the  centre.  In  building  an  arch,  could 
more  be  done  in  order  to  make  the  curve  true,  i.  e.  the 
parts  equi-distant  from  the  middle,  alike  in  figure  and  po- 
sition? 

The  exact  resemblance  of  the  eyes,  considering  how 
compounded  this  organ  is  in  its  structure,  how  various  and 
how  delicate  are  the  shades  of  color  with  which  its  iris  is 
tinged;  how  differently,  as  to  effect  upon  appeirance,  the 
eye  may  be  mounted  in  its  socket,  and  how  differently  in 
different  1:  eads  eyes  actually  are  set, — is  a property  of  an 
K 


10 


OF  THE  ANlMAi.  I5TRUCTURE 


imal  bodies  much  to  be  admired.  Often  thousand  eyes,  1 
do  not  know  that  it  would  be  possible  to  match  one,  except 
with  its  own  fellow;  or  to  distribute  them  into  suitable  pairs 
by  any  other  selection  than  that  which  obtains. 

This  regularity  of  the  animal  structure  is  rendered  more 
remarkable  by  the  three  following  considerations: — First, 
the  limbs,  separately  taken,  have  not  this  correlation  of 
parts;  but  the  contrary  of  it.  A knife  drawn  down  the 
chine,  cuts  the  human  body  into  two  parts,  externally  equal 
and  alike;  you  cannot  draw  a straight  line  which  will  di- 
vide a hand,  a foot,  the  leg,  the  thigh,  the  cheek,  the  eye, 
the  ear,  into  two  parts  equal  and  alike.  Those  parts  which 
are  placed  upon  the  middle  or  partition  line  of  the  body,  or 
which  traverse  that  line,  as  the  nose,  the  tongue,  the  lips, 
may  be  so  divided,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  are  double 
organs;  but  other  parts  cannot.  This  shows  that  the  cor- 
respondency which  we  have  been  describing,  does  not 
arise  by  any  necessity  in  the  nature  of  the  subject:  for,  if 
necessary,  it  would  be  universal;  whereas  it  is  observed  only 
in  the  system  or  assemblage:  it  is  not  true  of  the  separate 
parts;  that  is  to  say,  it  is  found  where  it  conduces  to  beau- 
ty or  utility ; it  is  not  found  where  it  would  subsist  at  the 
expense  of  both.  The  two  wings  of  a bird  always  corres- 
pond: the  two  sides  of  a feather  frequently  do  not.  In  cen- 
tipedes, millepedes,  and  that  whole  tribe  of  insects,  no  two 
legs  on  the  same  side  are  alike;  yet  there  is  the  most  exact 
parity  between  the  legs  opposite  to  one  another. 

2.  The  next  circumstance  to  be  remarked  is,  that  whilst 
the  cavities  of  the  body  are  so  configurated,  as  externally 
to  exhibit  the  most  exact  correspondency  of  the  opposite 
sides,  the  contents  of  these  cavities  have  no  such  corres- 
pondency. A line  drawn  down  the  middle  of  the  breast, 
divides  the  thorax  into  two  sides  exactly  similar;  yet  these 
two  sides  enclose  very  different  contents.  The  heart  lies 
on  the  left  side;  a lobe  of  the  lungs  on  the  right;  balancing 
each  other  neither  in  size  nor  shape.  The  same  thing 
holds  of  the  abdomen.  The  liver  lies  on  the  right  side,* 
without  any  similar  viscus  opposed  to  it  on  the  left.  The 
spleen  indeed  is  situated  over  against  the  liver;  but  agree- 
ing with  the  liver  neither  in  bulk  nor  form.  There  is  no 
equipollency  between  these.  The  stomach  is  a vessel,  both 
irregular  in  its  shape,  and  oblique  in  its  position.  The  fold- 
ings and  doublings  of  the  intestines  do  not  present  a parity 

* The  principal  lobe  of  the  liver  is  on  the  right,  but  a smaller  is  extend 
ed  into  the  left  side.  See  Plate  XXII. 


REGARDED  AS  A MASS. 


Ill 


of  sides.  Zet  that  symmetry  which  depends  upon  the  cor- 
relation o-  the  sides,  is  externally  preserved  throughout  the 
whole  trunk;  and  is  the  more  remarkable  in  the  lower  parts  of 
it,  as  the  integuments  are  soft;  and  the  shape,  consequent- 
ly, is  not,  as  the  thorax  is  by  its  ribs,  reduced  by  natural 
stays.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the  external  proportion 
does  not  arise  from  any  equality  in  the  shape  or  pressure 
of  the  internal  contents.  What  is  it  indeed  but  a correc- 
tion of  inequalities?  an  adjustment,  by  mutual  compensa- 
tion, of  anomalous  forms  into  a regular  congeries?  the  ef- 
fect, in  a word,  of  artful,  and,  if  we  might  be  permitted  so 
to  speak,  of  studied  collocation? 

3.  Similar  also  to  this,  is  the  third  observation;  that  an 
internal  inequality  in  the  feeding  vessels  is  so  managed, 
as  to  produce  no  inequality  in  parts  which  were  intended 
to  correspond.  The  right  arm  answers  accurately  to  the 
left,  both  in  size  and  shape;  but  the  arterial  branches, 
which  supply  the  two  arms,  do  not  go  off  from  their  trunk, 
in  a pair,  in  the  same  manner,  at  the  same  place,  or  a< 
the  same  angle.  Under  which  want  of  similitude,  it  k 
very  difficult  to  conceive  how  the  same  quantity  of  bloo^' 
should  be  pushed  through  each  artery:  yet  the  result  i 
right;  the  two  limbs,  which  are  nourished  by  them,  per 
ceive  no  difference  of  supply,  no  effects  of  excess  or  de- 
ficiency. 

Concerning  the  difference  of  manner,  in  which  the  sub- 
clavian and  carotid  arteries,  upon  the  different  sides  of 
the  body,  separate  themselves  from  the  aorta,  Cheselden 
seems  to  have  thought,  that  the  advantage  which  the  left 
gain  by  going  off  at  a much  more  acute  angle  than  the 
right,  is  made  up  to  the  right  by  their  going  off  together 
in  one  branch.*  It  is  very  possible  that  this  may  be  the 
compensating  contrivance;  and  if  it  be  so,  how  curious, 
how  hydrostatical  ? 

11.  Another  perfection  of  the  animal  mass  is  package 
[PI.  XXII.  fig.  1.]  I know  nothing  which  is  so  surprising 
Examine  the  contents  of  the  trunk  of  any  large  animal 
Take  notice  how  soft,  how  tender,  how  intricate  they  are 
how  constantly  in  action,  how  necessary  to  life!  Reflect 
upon  the  danger  of  any  injury  to  their  substance,  any  de- 
rangement of  their  position,  any  obstruction  to  their  office. 
Observe  the  heart  pumping  at  the  centre,  at  the  rate  of 
eighty  strokes  in  a minute:  one  set  of  pipes  carrying  the 
stream  away  from  it,  another  set  bringing,  in  its  cou''se,  the 


* Ches.  Anat.  p.  184.  ed,  7. 


112 


OF  THE  ANIMAL  STRUCTURE 


fluid  back  to  it  again ; the  lungs  performing  their  elaborate 
office,  viz.  distending  and  contracting  their  many  thousand 
vesicles,  by  a reciprocation  which  cannot  cease  for  a min- 
ute; the  stomach  exercising  its  powerful  chemistry;  the 
bowels  silently  propelling  the  changed  aliment;  collecting 
from  it,  as  it  proceeds,  and  transmitting  to  the  blood  an 
incessant  supply  of  prepared  and  assimilated  nourishment; 
that  blood  pursuing  its  course ; the  liver,  the  kidneys,  the 
pancreas,  the  parotid,  with  many  other  known  and  dis- 
tinguishable glands,  drawing  off  from  it,  all  the  while, 
their  proper  secretions.  These  several  operations,  togeth- 
er with  others  more  subtile  but  less  capable  of  being  inves- 
tigated, are  going  on  within  us,  at  one  and  the  same  time 
Think  of  this ; and  then  observe  how  the  body  itself,  the  case 
which  holds  this  machinery,  is  rolled,  and  jolted,  and  tossed 
about,  the  mechanism  remaining  unhurt,  and  with  very 
little.molestation,  even  of  its  nicest  motipns.  Observe  a rope 
dancer,  a tumbler,  or  a monkey:  the  sudden  inversions  and 
contortions  which  the  internal  parts  sustain  by  the  postures 
into  which  their  bodies  are  thrown;  or  rather  observe  the 
shocks  which  these  parts,  even  in  ordinary  subjects,  some- 
times receive  from  falls  and  bruises,  or  by  abrupt  jerks  and 
twists,  without  sensible,  or  with  soon-recovered  damage. 
Observe  this,  and  then  reflect  how  firmly  every  part  must 
be  secured,  how  carefully  surrounded,  how  well  tied  down 
and  packed  together. 

This  property  of  animal  bodies  has  never,  I think,  been 
considered  under  a distinct  head,  or  so  fully  as  it  deserves. 
I may  be  allowed,  therefore,  in  order  to  verify  my  observa- 
tion concerning  it,  to  set  forth  a short  anatomical  detail, 
though  it  oblige  me  to  use  more  technical  language  than  I 
should  wish  to  introduce  into  a work  of  this  kind. 

1.  The  heart  (such  care  is  taken  of  the  centre  of  life) 
is  placed  between  the  soft  lobes  of  the  lungs;  tied  to  the 
mediastinum  and  to  the  pericardium;  which  pericardium  is 
not  only  itself  an  exceedingly  strong  membrane,  but  adheres 
firmly  to  the  duplicature  of  the  mediastinum,  and,  by  its 
point,  to  the  middle  tendon  of  the  diaphragm.  The  heart 
is  also  sustained  in  its  place  by  the  great  blood-vessels  which 
issue  from  it  * 

2.  The  lungs  are  tied  to  the  sternum  by  the  mediasti- 
num, before;  to  the  vertebrae  by  the  pleura,  behind.  It 
seems  indeed  to  be  the  very  use  of  the  mediastinum  (which 
IS  a me'Tibrane  that  goes  straight  through  the  middle  of  the 


* Keill's  Anat.  p.  107.  ed.  tf. 


REGARDED  AS  A MASS. 


1 1::^ 

thorax,  from  the  breast  to  the  back)  to  keep  the  contents 
of  the  thorax  in  their  places;  in  particular  to  hinder  one 
lobe  of  the  lungs  from  incommoding  another,  or  the  parts 
of  the  lungs  from  pressing  upon  each  other  when  we  lie  on 
one  side.^ 

3.  The  liver  is  fastened  in  the  body  by  two  ligaments; 
the  first,  wh'.ch  is  large  and  strong,  comes  from  the  cover- 
ing of  the  diaphragm,  and  penetrates  the  substance  of  tlie 
liver;  the  second  is  the  umbilical  vein,  which,  after  birth, 
degenerates  into  a ligament.  The  first,  whicii  is  the  prin- 
cipal, fixes  the  liver  in  its  situation,  whilst  the  body  holds 
an  erect  posture;  the  second  prevents  it  from  pressing  up- 
on the  diaphragm  when  we  lie  down;  and  both  together 
sling  or  suspend  the  liver  when  we  lie  upon  our  backs,  so 
that  it  may  not  compress  or  obstruct  the  ascending  vena 
cava,!  to  which  belongs  the  important  office  of  returning 
the  blood  from  the  body  to  the  heart. 

4.  The  bladder  is  tied  to  the  naval  by  the  urachus,  trans- 
formed into  a ligament:  thus,  what  was  a passage  for  the 
urine  to  the  foetus,  becomes,  after  birth,  a support  or  stay 
to  the  bladder.  The  peritonneum  also  keeps  the  viscera 
from  confounding  themselves  with,  or  pressing  irregularly 
upon,  the  bladder:  for  the  kidneys  and  bladder  are  contain- 
ed in  a distinct  duplicature  of  that  membrane,  being  there- 
by partitioned  off  from  the  other  contents  of  the  abdomen. 

5.  The  kidneys  are  lodged  in  a bed  of  fat. 

6.  The  pancreas,  or  sweetbread,  is  strongly  tied  to  the 
peritonaeum,  which  is  the  great  wrapping  sheet,  that  encloses 
all  the  bowels  contained  in  the  lower  belly. J 

7.  The  spleen  also  is  confined  to  its  place  by  an  adhe- 
sion to  the  peritonoBum  and  diaphragm,  ai  d by  a connexion 
with  the  omentum. § It  is  possible,  in  my  opinion,  that 
the  spleen  may  be  merely  a stuffing,  a soft  cushion  to  fill 
up  a vacancy  or  hollow,  which,  unless  occupiijd,  would 
leave  the  package  loose  and  unsteady:  for,  supposing  that 
it  answers  no  other  purpose  than  this,  it  must  be  vascular, 
and  admit  of  a circulation  through  it,  in  order  to  be  kept 
alive,  or  be  a part  of  a living  body. 

8.  The  omentum,  epiploon,  or  caul,  is  an  apron  uje- 
ed  up,  or  doubling  upon  itself,  at  its  lowest  part.  The  up- 
per edge  is  tied  to  the  bottom  of  the  stomach,  to  the  spleen, 
as  hath  already  been  observed,  and  to  part  of  the  duode- 
num. The  reflected  edge  also,  after  forming  the  doubling, 

* Keill’s  Anat.  p.  119.  ed.  3.  f Chei^,  Anat.  p.  162. 

? Keill’s  Anat.  p.  57.  § Ches.  Anat.  p.  167. 

K* 


114 


OF  THE  ANIMAT  STRUCTURE 


comes  up  behind  the  front  flap^  and  is  tied  to  the  colon  ana 
adjoining  viscera.^ 

9.  The  septa  of  the  brain  probably  prevent  one  part 
of  that  organ  from  pressing  with  too  great  a weight  upon 
another  part.  The  processes  of  the  dura  mater  divide  the 
cavity  of  the  skull,  like  so  many  inner  partition  walls,  and 
thereby  confine  each  hemisphere  and  lobe  of  the  brain  to 
the  chamber  which  is  assigned  to  it,  without  its  being  liable 
to  rest  upon,  or  incommode  the  neighbouring  parts.  The 
great  art  and  caution  of  packing  is  to  prevent  one  thing 
hurting  another.  This,  in  the  head,  the  chest,  and  the 
abdomen,  of  an  animal  body,  is,  amongst  other  methods, 
provided  for  by  membranous  partitions  and  wrappings, 
which  keep  the  parts  separate. 

The  above  may  serve  as  a short  account  of  the  manner 
in  which  the  principal  viscera  are  sustained  in  their  places. 
But  of  the  provisions  for  this  purpose,  by  far,  in  my  opin- 
ion, the  most  curious,  and  where  also  such  a provision  w^as 
most  wanted,  is  in  the  guts.  It  is  pretty  evident,  that  a 
long  narrow  tube  (in  man,  about  five  times  the  length  of 
the  body)  laid  from  side  to  side  in  folds  upon  one  another, 
winding  in  oblique  and  circuitous  directions,  composed  al- 
so of  a soft  and  yielding  substance,  must,  without  some  ex- 
raordinary  precaution  for  its  safety,  be  continually  displac- 
ed by  the  various,  sudden,  and  abrupt  motions  of  the  body 
which  contains  it.  I should  expect  that,  if  not  bruised  or 
wounded  by  every  fall,  or  leap,  or  twist,  it  would  be  entan- 
gled, or  be  involved  with  itself,  or,  at  the  least,  slipped  and 
shaken  out  of  the  order  in  which  it  is  disposed,  and  which 
order  is  necessary  to  be  preserved  for  the  carrying  on  of 
the  important  functions,  which  it  has  to  execute  in  the  ani- 
mal economy.  Let  us  see,  therefore,  how  a danger  so  seri- 
ous, and  yet  so  natural  to  the  length,  narrowness,  and  tubu- 
lar form  of  the  part,  is  provided  against.  The  expedient 
is  admirable,  and  it  is  this;  the  intestinal  canal,  through- 
out its  whole  progress,  is  knit  to  the  edge  of  a broad  fat 
membrane  called  the  mcsentenj.  [PI.  XXII.  fig.  2.]  It  forms 
the  margin  of  this  mesentery,  being  stitched  and  fastened 
to  it  like  the  edging  of  a ruffle:  being  four  times  as  long  as 
the  mesentery  itself,  it  is  what  a sempstress  would  call, 
‘‘pucKered  or  gathered  on’’  to  it.  This  is  the  nature  of 
the  connexion  of  the  gut  with  the  mesentery;  and  being 
thus  joined  to,  or  rather  made  a part  of  the  mesentery,  it  is 
folded  and  wrapped  up  togetlier  with  it.  Now  the  mesen- 
tery, ha  ing  a considerable  dimension  in  breadth,  being  in 

* Clies.  Auat.  p.  149. 


REGARDED  AS  A MASS. 


115 


its  substance,  withal,  both  thick  and  suety,  is  capable  of  a 
close  and  safe  folding,  in  comparison  of  what  the  intestinal 
tube  would  admit  of,  if  it  had  remained  loose.  The  me- 
sentery, likewise,  not  only  keeps  the  intestinal  canal  in  its 
proper  place  and  position,  under  all  the  turns  and  windings 
of  its  course,  but  sustains  the  numberless  small  vessels,  the 
arteries,  the  veins,  the  lympheducts,  and,  above  all,  the 
lacteals,  which  lead  from  or  to  almost  every  point  of  its 
coats  and  cavity.  This  membrane,  which  appears  to  be 
the  great  support  and  security  of  the  alimentary  apparatus, 
is  itself  strongly  tied  to  the  first  three  vertebra)  of  the  loins.^ 

III.  A third  general  property  of  animal  forms  is  beauty 
I do  not  mean  relative  beauty,  or  that  of  one  individual 
above  another  of  the  same  species,  or  of  one  species  com- 
pared with  another  species;  but  I mean  generally,  the  pro- 
vision which  is  made  in  the  body  of  almost  every  animal, 
to  adapt  its  appearance  to  the  perception  of  the  animals 
with  which  it  converses.  In  our  own  species,  for  example, 
only  consider  what  the  parts  and  materials  are,  of  which 
the  fairest  body  is  composed;  and  no  farther  observation 
will  be  necessary  to  show,  how  well  these  things  are  wrap- 
ped up,  so  as  to  form  a mass,  which  shall  be  capable  of 
symmetry  in  its  proportion,  and  of  beauty  in  its  aspect;  how 
the  bones  are  covered,  the  bowels  concealed,  the  rough- 
nesses of  the  muscles  smoothed  and  softened;  and  how 
over  the  whole  is  drawn  an  integument,  which  converts  the 
disgusting  materials  of  a dissecting-room  into  an  object  of 
attraction  toUhe  sight,  or  one  upon  which  it  rests,  at  least, 
with  ease  and  satisfaction^  Much  of  this  effect  is  to  be  at- 
tributed to  the  intervention  of  the  cellular  or  adipose  mem- 
brane, which  lies  immediately  under  the  skin;  is  a kind 
of  lining  to  it ; is  moist,  soft,  slippery,  and  compressible; 
everywhere  filling  up  the  interstices  of  the  muscles,  and 
forming  thereby  the  roundness  and  flowing  line,  as  well  as 
the  evenness  and  polish  of  the  whole  surface. 

All  which  seems  to  be  a strong  indication  of  design,  and 
of  a design  studiously  directed  to  this  purpose.  And  it  be- 
ing once  allowed,  that  such  a purpose  existed  with  respect 
to  any  of  the  productions  of  nature,  we  may  refer,  with  a 
considerable  degree  of  probability,  other  particulars  to  the 
same  intention;  such  as  the  tints  of  flowers,  the  plumage 
of  birds,  the  furs  of  beasts,  the  bright  scales  of  fishes,  the 
painted  wings  of  butterflies  and  beetles,  the  rich  colors  and 
spotted  lustre  of  many  tribes  of  insects 

* Keill’s  Anat.  p.  45. 


116 


OF  THE  ANIMAL  STRUCTURE 


There  tire  parts  also  of  animals  ornamental,  and  the 
properties  by  which  they  are  so,  not  subservient,  that  we 
know  of,  to  any  other  purpose.  The  irides  of  most  ani- 
mals are  very  beautiful,  without  conducing  at  all,  by  their 
beauty,  to  the  perfection  of  vision;  and  nature  could  in  no 
part  have  employed  her  pencil  to  so  much  advantage, 
because  no  part  presents  itself  so  conspicuously  to  the 
observer,  or  communicates  so  great  an  effect  to  the  whole 
aspect. 

In  plants,  especially  in  the  flowers  of  plants,  the  princi- 
ple of  beauty  holds  a still  more  considerable  place  in  their 
composition ; is  still  more  confessed  than  in  animals.  Why, 
for  one  instance  out  of  a thousand,  does  the  corolla  of 
the  tulip,  when  advanced  to  its  size  and  maturity,  change 
its  color  The  purposes,  so  far  as  we  can  see,  of  vegeta- 
ble nutrition,  might  have  been  carried  on  as  well  by  its 
continuing  green.  Or,  if  this  could  not  be,  consistently 
with  the  progress  of  vegetable  life,  why  break  into  such  a 
variety  of  colors?  This  is  no  proper  effect  of  age,  or 
of  declension  in  the  ascent  of  the  sap;  for  that,  like 
the  autumnal  tints,  would  have  produced  one  color  on 
one  leaf,  with  marks  of  fading  and  withering.  It  seems  a 
lame  account  to  call  it,  as  it  has  been  called,  a disease 
of  the  plant.  Is  it  not  more  probable,  that  this  property, 
which  is  independent,  as  it  should  seem,  of  the  wants  and 
utilities  of  the  plant,  was  calculated  for  beauty,  intended 
for  display? 

A ground,  I know,  of  objection,  has  been  taken  against 
the  whole  topic  of  argument,  namely,  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  beauty  at  all;  in  other  words,  that  whatever  is 
useful  and  familiar,  comes  of  course  to  be  thought  beauti- 
ful; and  that  things  appear  to  be  so,  only  by  their  alliance 
with  these  qualities.  Our  idea  of  beauty  is  capable  of  be- 
ing so  modified  by  habit,  by  fashion,  by  the  experience  of 
advantage  or  pleasure,  and  by  associations  arising  out  of 
that  experience,  that  a question  has  been  made,  whether  it 
be  not  altogether  generated  by  these  causes,  or  would  have 
^ny  proper  existence  without  them.  It  seems,  however,  a 
carrying  of  the  conclusion  too  far,  to  deny  the  existence  of 
the  principle,  viz.  a native  capacity  of  perceiving  beauty, 
on  account  of  the  influence,  or  of  varieties  proceeding 
from  that  influence,  to  which  it  is  subject,  seeing  that  prin- 
ciples the  most  acknowledged  are  liable  to  be  affected  in 
Ihe  same  manner.  I should  rather  argue  thus:  the  ques- 
tion respects  objects  of  sight.  Now  every  other  sense  hath 
its  distinclicn  of  agreeable  and  disagreeable.  Some  tastes 


REGARDED  AS  A MASS 


117 


offend  the  palate,  others  gratify  it.  n brutes  and  insects, 
this  distinction  is  stronger  and  more  regular  than  in  man 
Every  horse,  ox,  sheep,  swine,  when  at  liberty  to  choose, 
and  when  in  a natural  state,  that  is,  when  not  vitiated  by 
habits  forced  upon  it,  eats  and  rejects  the  same  plants. 
Many  insects  which  feed  upon  particular  plants,  will  rather 
die  than  change  their  appropriate  leaf.  All  this  looks  like 
a determination  in  the  sense  itself  to  particular  tastes.  In 
like  manner,  smells  affect  the  nose,  with  sensations  pleasur- 
able or  disgusting.  Some  sounds,  or  compositions  of  sound, 
delight  the  ear ; others  torture  it.  Habit  can  do  much  in 
all  these  cases,  (and  it  is  well  for  us  that  it  can;  for  it  is 
this  power  which  reconciles  us  to  many  necessities,)  but  has 
the  distinction,  in  the  meantime,  of  agreeable  and  disa- 
greeable, no  foundation  in  the  sense  itself.^  What  is  true 
of  the  other  senses,  is  most  probably  true  of  the  eye,  (the 
analogy  is  irresistible,)  viz.  that  there  belongs  to  it  an  orig- 
inal constitution,  fitted  to  receive  pleasure  from  some  im- 
pressions, and  pain  from  others. 

I do  not  however  know,  that  the  argument  which  al- 
leges beauty  as  a final  cause,  rests  upon  this  concession. 
We  possess  a sense  of  beauty,  however  we  come  by  it.  It 
in  fact  exists.  Things  are  not  indifferent  to  this  sense; 
all  objects  do  not  suit  it;  many,  which  we  see,  are  agree- 
able to  it;  many  others  disagreeable.  It  is  certainly  not 
the  effect  of  habit  upon  the  particular  object,  because  the 
most  agreeable  objects  are  often  the  most  rare;  many, 
which  are  very  common,  continue  to  be  offensive.  If  they 
be  made  supportable  by  habit,  it  is  all  which  habit  can  do; 
they  never  become  agreeable.  If  this  sense,  therefore,  be 
acquired,  it  is  a result;  the  produce  of  numerous  and  com- 
plicated actions  of  external  objects  upon  the  senses,  and  of 
the  mind  upon  its  sensations.  With  this  result,  there 
must  be  a certain  congruity  to  enable  any  particular  object 
to  please:  and  that  congruity,  we  contend,  is  consulted  in 
the  aspect  which  is  given  to  animal  and  vegetable  bodies. 

IV.  The  skin  and  covering  of  animals  is  that  upon 
wliich  their  appearance  chiefly  depends,  and  it  is  that  part 
which,  perhaps,  in  all  animals  is  most  decorated,  and  most 
free  from  impurities.  But  were  beauty,  or  agreeableness 
of  aspect,  entirely  out  of  the  question,  there  is  another 
purpose  answered  by  this  integument,  and  by  the  collo- 
cation of  the  parts  of  the  body  beneath  it,  which  is  of 
still  greater  importance;  and  that  purpose  is  concealment. 
Were  it  possible  to  view  through  the  skin  the  mechanism 

our  bodies,  the  sight  would  frighte  is  out  of  our  wits. 


118 


OF  THE  ANIMAL  STRUCTURE 


^ Durst  make  a single  movement/’  asks  a lively  French 
writer,  or  stir  a step  from  the  place  we  were  in,  if  we  saio 
our  blood  circulating,  the  tendons  pulling,  the  lungs  blow- 
ing, the  humours  filtrating,  and  all  the  incomprehensible 
assemblage  of  fibres,  tubes,  pumps,  valves,  currents,  piv- 
ots, which  sustain  an  existence,  at  once  so  frail,  and  so  pre- 
sumptuous?” 

V.  Of  animal  bodies,  considered  as  masses,  there  is 
another  property,  more  curious  than  it  is  generally  thought 
to  be;  which  is  the  faculty  of  standing:  and  it  is  more 
remarkable  in  two-legged  animals  than  in  quadrupeds,  and, 
most  of  all,  as  being  the  tallest,  and  resting  upon  the  small- 
est base,  in  man.*  There  is  more,  I think,  in  the  matter 
than  we  are  aware  of.  The  statue  of  a man,  placed  loosely 
upon  its  pedestal,  would  not  be  secure  of  standing  half  an 
hour.  You  are  obliged  to  fix  its  feet  to  the  block  by  bolts 
and  solder ; or  the  first  shake,  the  first  gust  of  wind,  is  sure 
to  throw  it  down.  Yet  this  statue  shall  express  all  the 
mechanical  proportions  of  a living  model.  It  is  not,  there- 
fore, the  mere  figure,  or  merely  placing  the  centre  of  grav- 
ity within  the  base,  that  is  sufficient.  Either  the  law  of 
gravitation  is  suspended  in  favor  of  living  substances,  or 
something  more  is  done  for  them,  in  order  to  enable  them 
to  uphold  their  posture.  There  is  no  reason  whatever  to 
doubt,  but  that  their  parts  descend  by  gravitation  in  the 
same  manner  as  those  of  dead  matter.  The  gift,  there- 
fore, appears  to  me  to  consist,  in  a faculty  of  perpetually 
shifting  the  centre  of  gravity,  by  a set  of  obscure,  indeed, 
but  of  quick-balancing  actions,  so  as  to  keep  the  line 
of  direction,  which  is  a line  drawn  from  that  centre  to  the 
ground,  within  its  prescribed  limits.  Of  these  actions  it 
may  be  observed,  first,  that  they  in  part  constitute  what  we 
call  strength.  The  dead  body  drops  down.  The  mere 
adjustment,  therefore,  of  weight  and  pressure,  which  may 
be  the  same  the  moment  after  death  as  the  moment  before, 
does  not  support  the  column.  In  cases  also  of  extreme 

♦Anatomy  explains  the  mode  in  which  the  weight  of  the  body  is 
transmitted  to  the  feet;  and  we  have  seen  that  the  muscles  which  prevent 
the  head  from  falling  forward  in  standing,  have  their  fixed  point  in  the 
neck;  that  those  which  perform  the  same  office  with  regard  to  the  verte- 
bral column,  have  theirs  in  the  pelvis;  that  those  which  preserve  the  pel- 
vis in  equilibrium  are  attached  to  the  tl  ighs,  or  to  the  bones  of  the  legs; 
.bat  those  which  prevent  the  thighs  from  fallijig  backward  are  inserted  into 
the  tibia;  and  lastly,  that  tho.se  that  } -eserve  the  tibia  in  their  verti- 
•lal  position  have  their  fixed  point  in  th(  feet;  these  preserve  us  firm  in 
a sta  iding  positiou  —Paxton, 


regarded  as  a mass 


119 


weakness,  the  patient  cannot  stand  uprignt.  Secondly, 
that  these  actions  are  only  in  a small  degree  voluntary.  A 
man  is  seldom  conscious  of  his  voluntary  powers  in  keep^ 
ing  himself  upon  his  legs.  A child  learning  to  walk  is  the 
greatest  posture-master  in  the  world;  but  art,  if  it  may  be 
so  called,  sinks  into  habit;  and  he  is  soon  able  to  poise 
himself  in  a great  variety  of  attitudes,  without  being  sen- 
sible either  of  caution  or  effort.  But  still  there  must  be 
an  aptitude  of  parts,  upon  which  habit  can  thus  attach;  a 
previous  capacity  of  motions  which  the  animal  is  thus  taught 
to  exercise:  and  the  facility  with  which  this  exercise 
is  acquired  forms  one  object  of  our  admiration  What 
parts  are  principally  employed,  or  in  what  manner  each 
contributes  its  office,  is,  as  hath  already  been  confessed, 
difficult  to  explain.  Perhaps  the  obscure  motion  of  the 
bones  of  the  feet  may  have  their  share  in  this  effect. 
They  are  put  in  action  by  every  slip  or  vacillation  of  the 
body,  and  seem  to  assist  in  restoring  its  balance.  Certain 
it  is,  that  this  circumstance  in  the  structure  of  the  foot, 
viz.  its  being  composed  of  many  small  bones,  applied  to, 
and  articulating  with  one  another,  by  diversely  shaped  sur- 
faces, instead  of  being  made  of  one  piece,  like  the  last  of 
a shoe,  is  very  remarkable.*  I suppose  also,  that  it  would 
be  difficult  to  stand  firmly  upon  stilts  or  wooden  legs,  though 
their  base  exactly  imitated  the  figure  and  dimensions 
of  the  sole  of  the  foot.  The  alternation  of  the  joints, 
the  knee-joint  bending  backward,  the  hip-joint  forward; 
the  flexibility,  in  every  direction,  of  the  spine,  especially 
in  the  loins  and  neck,  appear  to  be  of  great  moment  in 
preserving  the  equilibrium  of  the  body.  With  respect  to  this 
last  circumstance,  it  is  observable,  that  the  vertebrae  are  so 
confined  by  ligaments,  as  to  allow  no  more  slipping  upon 


* [See  Plate  XI.]  There  is  no  part  of  the  human  frame  which  is  more 
wonderfully  constructed  than  the  foot.  It  has  the  requisite  strength  to 
support  the  weight  of  the  body,  and  often  an  additional  burden;  flexibility, 
that  it  may  be  adapted  to  the  inequalities  of  the  surface  on  which  we  tread; 
and  elasticity , to  assist  in  walking,  running,  and  springing  from  the  ground. 
This  advantage  we  possess  from  the  number  of  joints,  the  arch  of  the 
foot  being  composed  of  twenty^six  bones.  Those  bones  have  a con- 
siderable play  on  each  other;  and  as  each  articulating  surface  is  cover- 
ed with  cartilage,  the  essential  property  of  which  is  elasticity,  the 
jarring  is  thus  prevented  which  would  result  from  a contact  of  the 
bones. 

“ The  first  question  which  naturally  arises,  is.  Why  there  should  be 
so  many  bones?  The  answer  is — In  order  that  the»*e  may  be  so  many 
joints  ; for  the  structure  of  a joint  not  only  permits  motion  but  bestows 
elasticity.” — Paxton 


120 


OF  THE  ANIMAL  STRUCTURE 


tbeir  bases,  than  what  is  just  sufficient  to  break  the  shock 
which  any  violent  motion  may  occasion  to  the  body.  A 
certain  degree  also  of  tension  of  the  sinews  appears  to  be 
essential  to  an  erect  posture;  for  it  is  by  the  loss  of  this, 
ffiat  the  dead  or  paralytic  body  drops  down.  The  whole 
(S  a wonderful  result  of  combined  powers,  and  of  very 
complicated  operations.  Indeed,  that  standing  is  not  so 
simple  a business  as  we  imagine  it  to  be,  is  evident  from 
the  strange  gesticulations  of  a drunken  man,  who  has  lost 
the  government  of  the  centre  of  gravity. 

We  have  said  that  this  property  is  the  most  worthy  of 
observation  in  the  human  body:  but  a bird,  resting  upon 
its  perch,  or  hopping  upon  a spray,  affords  no  mean  speci- 
men of  the  same  faculty.  A chicken  runs  off  as  soon  as  it 
is  hatched  from  the  egg;  yet  a chicken,  considered  geo- 
metrically, and  with  relation  to  its  centre  of  gravity,  its 
line  of  direction,  and  its  equilibrium,  is  a very  irregular 
solid.  Is  this  gift,  therefore,  or  instruction?  May  it  not 
be  said  to  be  with  great  attention,  that  nature  hath  balanc- 
ed the  body  upon  its  pivots? 

I observe  also  in  the  same  bird  a piece  of  useful  me- 
chanism of  this  kind.  In  the  trussing  of  a fowl,  upon  bend- 
ing the  legs  and  thighs  up  towards  the  body,  the  cook  finds 
that  the  claws  close  of  their  own  accord.  Now  let  it  be 
remembered,  that  this  is  the  position  of  the  limbs,  in  which 
the  bird  rests  upon  its  perch.  And  in  this  position  it  sleeps 
in  safety;  for  the  claws  do  their  office  in  keeping  hold  of 
the  support,  not  by  any  exertion  of  voluntary  power,  which 
sleep  might  suspend,  but  by  the  traction  of  the  tendons  in 
consequence  of  the  attitude  which  the  legs  and  thighs  take 
by  the  bird  sitting  down,  and  to  which  the  mere  weight  of 
the  body  gives  the  force  that  is  necessary. 

VI.  Regarding  the  human  body  as  a mass;  regarding 
the  general  conformations  which  obtain  in  it;  regarding 
also  particular  parts  in  respect  to  those  conformations;  we 
shall  be  led  to  observe  what  I call  “ interrupted  analogies.*’ 
The  following  are  examples  of  what  I mean  by  these  terms, 
and  I do  not  know  how  such  critical  deviations  can,  by 
any  possible  hypothesis,  be  accounted  for  without  design. 

1 . All  the  bones  of  the  body  are  covered  with  a 
osieumy  except  the  teeth;  where  it  ceases,  and  an  enamel 
of  ivory,  which  saws  and  files  will  hardly  touch,  comes  into 
its  place.  No  one  can  doubt  of  the  use  and  propriety  of 
his  difference;  of  the  ‘‘analogy”  being  thus  “interrupted;” 
of  the  rule,  which  belongs  to  the  conformation  of  the  bones 
topping  where  it  does  stop;  for,  had  so  exquisitely  sensi- 


REGARDED  AS  V MASS. 


121 


ble  a membrane  as  the  periosteum  invested  the  teeth,  as  it 
invests  every  other  bone  of  the  body,  tkeir  action,  necessa- 
ry exposure,  and  irritation,  would  have  subjected  the  ani- 
mal to  continual  pain.  General  as  it  is,  it  was  not  the  sort 
of  integument  which  suited  the  teeth.  What  they  stood  in 
need  of,  was  a strong,  hard,  insensible,  defensive  coat;  and 
exactly  such  a covering  is  given  to  them,  in  the  ivory 
enamel  which  adheres  to  their  surface. 

2.  The  scarf-skin,  which  clothes  all  the  rest  of  the  body, 
gives  way,  at  the  extremities  of  the  toes  and  fingers,  to  nails, 
A man  has  only  to  look  at  his  hand,  to  observe  with  what 
nicety  and  precision,  that  covering,  which  extends  over 
every  other  part,  is  here  superseded  by  a different  sub- 
stance, and  a different  texture.  Now,  if  either  the  rule 
had  been  necessary,  or  the  deviation  from  it  accidental, 
this  effect  would  not  be  seen.  When  I speak  of  the  rule 
being  necessary,  I mean  the  formation  of  the  skin  upon  the 
surface  being  produced  by  a set  of  causes  constituted  with- 
out design,  and  acting,  as  all  ignorant  causes  must  act,  by 
a general  operation.  Were  this  the  case,  no  account  could 
be  given  of  the  operation  being  suspended  at  the  fingers* 
ends,  or  on  the  back  part  of  the  fingers,  and  not  on  the 
fore  part.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  deviation  were  acci- 
dental, an  error,  an  anomalism;  were  it  anything  else  than 
settled  by  intention;  we  should  meet  with  nails  upon  other 
parts  of  the  body.  They  would  be  scattered  o\er  the  sur 
face,  lik^  warts  or  pimples. 

3.  All  the  great  cavities  of  the  body  are  enclosed  by 
membranes,  except  the  skull.  Why  should  not  the  brain  be 
content  with  the  same  covering  as  that  which  serves  for  the 
other  principal  organs  of  the  body?  The  heart,  the  lungs, 
the  liver,  the  stomach,  the  bowels,  have  all  soft  integuments, 
and  nothing  else.  The  muscular  coats  are  all  soft  and 
membranous.  I can  see  a reason  for  this  distinction  in  the 
final  cause,  but  in  no  other.  The  importance  of  the  brain 
to  life,  (which  experience  proves  to  be  immediate,)  and  the 
extreme  tenderness  of  its  substance,  make  a solid  case 
more  necessary  for  it,  than  for  any  other  part;  and  such  a 
case  the  hardness  of  the  skull  supplies.  When  the  smalls 
est  portion  of  this  natural  casket  is  lost,  how  carefully,  yet 
how  imperfectly  is  it  replaced  by  a plate  of  metal  ? If  an 
anatomist  should  say,  that  this  bony  protection  is  not  con- 
fined to  the  brain,  but  is  extended  along  the  course  of  the 
spine,  I answer,  that  he  adds  strength  to  the  argument.  If 
he  remark,  that  the  chest  also  is  fortified  by  bones,  I reply, 
that  I should  have  alleged  this  instance  myself,  if  the  ribs 

L 


122 


COxVIPaRaTIVE  ANaIOMI. 


had  not  appeared  subservient  to  the  purpose  of  moth  o as 
well  as  of  defence.  What  distinguishes  the  skull  from  ever) 
other  cavity  is,  that  the  bony  covering  completely  surrounds 
its  contents,  and  is  calculated,  not  for  motion,  but  solely  for 
defence.  Those  hollows,  likewise,  and  inequalities,  which 
we  observe  in  the  inside  of  the  skull,  and  which  exactly  fit 
the  folds  of  the  brain,  answer  the  important  design  of  keep- 
ing the  substance  of  the  brain  steady,  and  of  guarding  it 
Qgumst  concu6Sior45 


CHAPTER  XII. 

COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY. 

Whenever  we  find  a general  plan  pursued,  yet  with 
such  variations  in  it  as  are,  in  each  case  required  by  the 
particular  exigency  of  the  subject  to  which  it  is  applied,  we 
possess,  in  such  plan  and  such  adaptation,  the  strongest  evi- 
dence that  can  be  afforded  of  intelligence  and  design;  an 
evidence  which  most  completely  excludes  every  other 
hypothesis.  If  the  general  plan  proceeded  from  any  fixed 
necessity  in  the  nature  of  things,  how  could  it  accommodate 
itself  to  the  various  wants  and  uses  which  it  had  to  serve 
under  different  circumstances,  and  on  different  occasions? 
Arkwright’s  mill  was  invented  for  the  spinning  of  cotton. 
We  see  it  employed  for  the  spinning  of  wool,  flax,  and 
hemp,  with  such  modifications  of  the  original  principle, 
such  variety  in  the  same  plan,  as  the  texture  of  those  dif- 
ferent materials  rendered  necessary.  Of  the  machine’s 
being  put  together  with  design,  if  it  were  possible  to  doubt, 
whilst  we  saw  it  only  under  one  mode,  and  in  one  form, 
when  we  came  to  observe  it  in  its  different  applications, 
with  such  changes  of  structure,  such  additions,  and  supple 
ments,  as  the  special  and  particular  use  in  each  case  de- 
manded, we  could  not  refuse  any  longer  our  assent  to  the 
proposition,  ‘‘that  intelligence,  properly  and  strictly  so 
called,  (including  under  that  name,  foresight,  consideration, 
reference  to  utility,)  had  been  employed,  as  well  in  the 
primitive  plan,  as  in  the  several  changes  and  accommoda- 
tions which  i is  made  to  undergo.” 

Very  much  of  this  reasoning  is  applicable  to  what  has 
been  called  Comparative  Jlnatomy.  In  their  general  econ- 
omy, in  the  outlines  of  the  plan,  in  the  construction  as  well 
as  ofhces  of  their  principal  parts,  there  exists  between  all 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY. 


123 


large  terrestrial  animals  a close  resemblance.  In  all  ifeis 
sustained,  and  the  body  nourished  by  nearly  the  same  ap- 
paratus. The  heart,  the  lungs,  the  stomach,  the  liver,  the 
kidneys,  are  much  alike  in  all.  The  same  fluid  (for  no 
distinction  of  blood  has  been  observed)  circulates  through 
their  vessels,  and  nearly  in  the  same  order.  The  same 
cause,  therefore,  whatever  that  cause  was,  has  been  con- 
cerned in  the  origin,  has  governed  the  production  of  these 
different  animal  forms. 

When  we  pass  on  to  smaller  animals,  or  to  the  inhabi- 
tants of  a different  element,  the  resemblance  becomes  more 
distant  and  more  obscure;  but  still  the  plan  accompanies 

JS. 

And,  what  we  can  never  enough  commend,  and  which  it 
is  our  business  at  present  to  exemplify,  the  plan  is  attend- 
ed, through  all  its  varieties  and  deflections,  by  subservien- 
cies to  special  occasions  and  utilities. 

I.  The  covering  of  different  animals  (though  whether  I 
am  correct  in  classing  this  under  their  anatomy  I do  not 
know)  is  the  first  thing  which  presents  itself  to  our  observa- 
tion; and  is,  in  truth,  both  for  its  variety,  and  its  suitable- 
ness to  their  several  natures,  as  much  to  be  admired  as  any 
part  of  their  structure.  We  have  bristles,  hair,  wool,  furs, 
feathers,  quills,  prickles,  scales;  yet  in  this  diversity  both 
of  material  and  form,  we  cannot  change  one  animal’s  coc>.t 
for  another,  without  evidently  changing  it  for  the  worse; 
taking  care  however  to  remark,  that  these  coverings  are,  in 
many  cases,  armor  as  well  as  clothing;  intended  for  pro- 
tection as  well  as  warmth. 

The  human  animal  is  the  only  one  which  is  naked,  and  the 
only  one  which  can  clothe  itself.  This  is  one  of  the  proper- 
ties which  renders  him  an  animal  of  all  climates,  and  of 
all  seasons.  He  can  adapt  the  warmth  or  lightness  of  his 
covering  to  the  temperature  of  his  habitation.  Had  he 
been  born  with  a fleece  upon  his  back,  although  he  might 
have  been  comforted  by  its  warmth  in  high  latitudes,  it 
would  have  oppressed  him  by  its  weight  and  heat,  as  the 
species  spread  towards  the  equator. 

What  art,  however,  does  for  men,  nature  has,  in  many 
instances,  done  for  those  animals  which  are  incapable  of 
art.  Their  clothing,  of  its  own  accord,  changes  with 
I heir  necessities.  This  is  particularly  the  case  with  that 
large  tribe  of  quadrupeds  which  are  covered  with  furs. 
Every  dealer  in  hare-skins  and  rabbit-skins,  knows  how 
much  the  fur  is  thickened  by  the  approach  of  winter.  It 
seems  to  be  a part  of  the  same  constitution  and  the  same 


124 


COMPARA.TIVE  ANAT031Y. 


design,  that,  wool  in  hot  countries,  degenerate*?,  as  it  is 
called,  bit  n truth  (most  happily  for  the  animal’s  ease) 
passes  into  hair ; whilst,  on  the  contrary,  that  hair  on  the 
dogs  of  the  polar  regions,  is  turned  into  wool,  or  some- 
thing very  like  it.  To  which  may  be  referred,  what  natural- 
ists have  remarked,  that  bears,  wolves,  foxes,  hares,  which 
do  not  take  the  water,  have  the  fur  much  thicker  on  the 
back  than  the  belly:  whereas  in  the  beaver  it  is  the  thick- 
est upon  the  belly;  as  are  the  feathers  on  waterfowl. 
We  know  the  final  cause  of  all  this;  and  we  know  no 
other.. 

The  covering  of  birds  cannot  escape  the  most  vulgar  ob- 
servation. Its  lightness,  its  smoothness,  its  warmth; — the 
disposition  of  the  feathers  all  inclined  backward,  the  down 
about  their  stem,  the  overlapping  of  their  tips,  their  differ- 
ent configuration  in  different  parts,  not  to  mention  the  va- 
riety of  their  colors,  constitute  a vestment  for  the  body, 
so  beautiful,  and  so  appropriate  to  the  life  which  the  animal 
is  to  lead,  as  that,  I think,  w^e  should  have  had  no  concep- 
tion of  anything  equally  perfect,  if  we  had  never  seen  it, 
or  can  now  imagine  anything  more  so.  Let  us  suppose 
(what  is  possible  only  in  supposition)  a person  who  had 
never  seen  a bird,  to  be  presented  with  a plucked  pheasant, 
and  bid  to  set  his  wits  to  work,  how  to  contrive  for  it  a 
covering  which  shall  unite  the  qualities  of  warmth,  levity, 
and  least  resistance  to  the  air,  and  the  highest  degree  of 
each;  giving  it  also  as  much  of  beauty,  and  ornament  as 
he  could  afford.  He  is  the  person  to  behold  the  work  of 
the  Deity,  in  this  part  of  his  creation,  with  the  sentiments 
which  are  due  to  it. 

The  commendation,  which  the  general  aspect  of  the 
feathered  world  seldom  fails  of  exciting,  will  be  increased 
by  farther  examination.  It  is  one  of  those  cases  in  which 
the  philosopher  has  more  to  admire  than  the  common  ob- 
server. Every  feather  is  a mechanical  wonder.  If  we 
look  at  the  quill,  we  find  properties  not  easily  broughc 
together, — strength  and  lightness.  I know  few  thii  gs 
more  remarkable  than  the  strength  and  lightness  of  the 
very  pen  with  which  I am  writing.  If  we  cast  our  eye 
to  the  upper  part  of  the  stem,  we  see  a material,  made  for 
ti  e purp  ise,  used  in  no  otlier  class  of  animals,  and  in  no 
oihe'  part  of  birds;  tough,  light,  pliant,  elastic.  The 
pith,  also,  which  feeds  tlie  feathers,  is,  amongst  animal 
substances,  sui  generis:  neither  bone,  flesh,  membrane, 
nor  tendon. ^ 

But  the  artificial  part  of  a feather  is  the  beard,  oi\  as  it 


COMPARATIVE  ANAlOttY. 


125 


is  sometimes,  I believe,  called,  the  vane.  By  the  beards 
are  meant,  what  are  fastened  on  each  side  of  the  stem,  and 
what  constitute  the  breadth  of  the  feather;  what  we  usual- 
ly strip  off,  from  one  side  or  both,  when  we  make  a pen. 
llie  separate  pieces  of  laminae,  of  which  the  beard  is 
composed,  are  called  threads,  sometimes  filaments,  or  rays. 
Now  the  first  thing  which  an  attentive  observer  will  remark 
is,  hew  much  stronger  the  beard  of  the  feather  shows  it- 
self to  be,  when  pressed  in  a direction  perpendicular  to  its 
plane,  than  when  rubbed,  either  up  or  down,  in  the  line  of 
the  stem;  and  he  will  soon  discover  the  structure  jvhich 
occasions  this  difference,  viz.  that  the  laminae,  whereof 
these  beards  are  composed,  are  flat,  and  placed  with  their 
flat  sides  towards  each  other;  by  which  means,  whilst  they 
easily  bend  for  the  approaching  of  each  other,  as  any  one 
may  perceive  by  drawing  his  finger  ever  so  lightly  upwards, 
they  are  much  harder  to  bend  out  of  their  plane,  which  is 
the  direction  in  which  they  have  to  encounter  the  impulse 
and  pressure  of  the  air,  and  in  which  their  strength  is 
wanted  and  put  to  the  trial. 

This  is  one  particularity  in  the  structure  of  a feather; 
a second  is  still  more  extraordinary.  Whoever  examines 
a feather,  cannot  help  taking  notice,  that  the  threads  or  la- 
minge,  of  which  we  have  been  speaking,  in  their  natural 
state  unite;  that  their  union  is  something  more  than  the 
mere  apposition  of  loose  surfaces;  that  they  are  not  part- 
ed asunder  without  some  degree  offeree;  that  nevertheless 
there  is  no  glutinous  cohesion  between  the»^  , that,  there- 
fore, by  some  mechanical  means  or  other,  they  catch  or 
clasp  among  themselves,  thereby  giving  to  the  beard  or 
vane  its  closeness  and  compactness  of  texture.  Nor  is  this 
all:  when  two  laminae,  which  have  been  separated  by  acci- 
dent or  force,  are  brought  together  again,  they  immediately 
reclasp;  the  connexion,  whatever  it  was,  is  perfectly  re- 
covered, and  the  beard  of  the  feather  becomes  as  smooth 
and  firm  as  if  nothing^  had  happened  to  it.  Draw  your  fin- 
ger down  the  feather,  which  is  against  the  grain,  and  you 
break  probably  the  junction  of  some  of  the  contiguous 
threads;  draw  your  finger  up  the  feather,  and  you  restore 
all  things  to  their  former  state.  This  is  no  common  con- 
trivance: and  now  for  the  mechanism  by  which  it  is  ef- 
fected.The  threads  or  laminae  above  mentioned,  are  m- 

* By  the  aid  of  the  microscope  it  appears,  that  the  laminae  are  not  flat, 
es  they  appear  to  the  unassisted  eye,  but  are  semi-tubular,  having  on 
heir  outward  edge  a series  of  bristles,  termed  in  the  text  fibres,  set  in  pairs 
opposite  one  another,  which  clasp  with  the  bristles  of  the  approximate 
L* 


126 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY. 


terlaced  with  one  another;  and  the  interlacing  is  perform- 
ed by  means  of  a vast  number  of  fibres,  or  teeih,  which 
the  laminse  shoot  forth  on  each  side,  and  which  hook  and 
grapple  together.  A friend  of  mine  counted  fifty  of  these 
fibres  in  one  twentieth  of  an  inch.  These  fibres  are  crook- 
ed; but  curved  after  a different  manner:  for  those  which 
proceed  from  the  thread  on  the  side  towards  the  extremity 
3f  the  feather,  are  longer,  more  flexible,  and  bent  down- 
ward; whereas  those  which  proceed  from  the  side  towards 
the  beginning,  or  quill-end  of  the  feather,  are  shorter,  firm- 
er, and  turn  upwards.  The  process  then  which  takes 
place  is  as  follows:  When  two  laminae  are  pressed  to- 
gether, so  that  these  long  fibres  are  forced  far  enough  over 
the  short  ones,  tliew  crooked  parts  fall  into  the  cavity  made 
by  the  crooked  parts  of  the  others;  just  as  the  latch  that  is 
fastened  to  a door  enters  into  the  cavity  of  the  catch  fixed 
to  the  door-post,  and  there  hooking  itself,  fastens  the  door; 
for  it  is  properly  in  this  manner,  that  one  thread  of  a 
feather  is  fastened  to  the  other. 

This  admirable  structure  of  the  feather,  which  it  is  easy 
to  see  with  the  microscope,  succeeds  perfectly  for  the  use 
to  which  nature  has  designed  it;  which  use  was,  not  only 
that  the  laminas  might  be  united,  but  that  when  one  thread 
or  lamina  has  been  separated  from  another  by  some  exter- 
nal violence,  it  might  be  reclasped  with  sufficient  facility 
and  expedition.* 

In  the  ostrich,  this  apparatus  of  crotchets  and  fibres,  of 
hooks  and  teeth,  is  wanting:  and  we  see  the  consequence 
of  the  want.  The  filaments  hang  loose  and  separate  from 
one  another,  forming  only  a kind  of  down;  which  consti- 
tution of  the  feathers,  however  it  may  fit  them  for  the  flow- 
ing honors  of  a lady’s  head-dress,  may  be  reckoned  an 
imperfection  in  the  bird,  inasmuch  as  wings,  composed  of 
ihese  feathers,  although  they  may  greatly  assist  it  in  run- 
ning, do  not  serve  for  flight. 

But  under  the  present  division  of  our  subject,  our  busi- 
ness with  feathers  is,  as  they  are  the  covering  of  the  bird. 
And  herein  a singular  circumstance  occurs.  In  the  small 
order  of  birds  which  winter  with  us,  from  a snipe  down- 

laminsB,  and  cause  that  adhesiveness  observable  between  the  several 
.aniinoe  of  the  vane. 

The  bristles  are  not  of  the  same  form  on  each  side  of  one  lamina  ; the 
ower  tier,  Tab.  XXIII.  fi^.  6.  form  a simple  and  slight  curve,  while  the 
upper,  fig.  7.  terminate  with  three  or  four  little  hooks,  which  serve  to 
catch  the  simple  corresponding  bristle,  fig.  6.  of  the  next  lamina. 

* The  above  account  is  taken  from  .Memoirs  for  a Natural  Ilist.^ry  of 
Animals,  by  the  Royal  Academy  of  Paris,  published  1701,  p.  209. 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY. 


wards,  let  he  external  color  of  the  feathers  be  what  it 
will,  their  Creator  has  universally  given  them  a bed  ot 
black  down  next  their  bodies.  Black,  we  know,  is  the 
warmest  color;  and  the  purpose  here  is,  to  keep  in  the 
heat,  arising  from  the  heart  and  circulation  of  the  blood. 
It  is  farther  likewise  remarkable,  that  this  is  not  found  in 
larger  birds;  for  which  there  is  also  a reason: — small  birds 
are  much  more  exposed  to  the  cold  than  large  ones;  foras- 
much as  they  present,  in  proportion  to  their  bulk,  a much 
larger  surface  to  the  air.  If  a turkey  were  divided  into  a 
number  of  wrens,  (supposing  the  shape  of  the  turkjoy  and 
the  wren  to  be  similar,)  the  surface  of  all  the  wrens  would 
exceed  the  surface  of  the  turkey,  in  the  proportion  of  the 
length,  breadth,  (or,  of  any  homologous  line,)  of  a turkey 
to  that  of  a wren;  which  would  be,  perhaps,  a proportion 
of  ten  to  one.  It  was  necessary,  therefore,  that  small 
birds  should  be  more  warmly  clad  than  large  ones:  and  this 
seems  to  be  the  expedient  by  which  that  exigency  is  pro- 
vided for. 

II.  In  comparing  different  animals,  I know  no  part  of 
their  structure  which  exhibits  greater  variety,  or,  in  that 
variety,  a nicer  accommodation  to  their  respective  conve- 
niency,  than  that  which  is  seen  in  the  different  formations 
of  their  mouths.  Whether  the  purpose  be  the  reception  of 
aliment  merely,  or  the  catching  of  prey,  the  picking  up 
of  seeds,  the  cropping  of  herbage,  the  extraction  of  juices, 
the  suction  of  liquids,  the  breaking  and  grinding  of  food, 
the  taste  of  that  food,  together  with  the  respiration  of  air, 
and,  in  conjunction  with  it,  the  utterance  of  sound;  these 
various  offices  are  assigned  to  this  one  part,  and,  indiffer- 
ent species,  provided  for,  as  they  are  wanted,  by  its  differ- 
ent constitution.  In  the  human  species,  forasmuch  as 
there  are  hands  to  convey  the  food  to  the  mouth,  the  mouth 
is  flat,  and  by  reason  of  its  flatness,  fitted  only  for  reccp^ 
lion;  whereas  the  projecting  jaws,  the  wide  rictus,  the 
pointed  teeth  of  the  dog  and  his  affinities,  enable  them  to 
apply  their  mouths  to  snatch  and  seize  the  objects  of  their 
pursuit.  The  full  lips,  the  rough  tongue,  the  corrugated 
cartilaginous  palate,  the  broad  cutting  teeth  of  the  ox,  the 
deer,  the  horse,  and  the  sheep,  qualify  this  tribe  for  6roiys- 
ing  upon  their  pasture;  either  gathering  large  mouthfuls 
at  once,  where  the  grass  is  long,  which  is  the  case  with 
the  ox  in  particular;  or  biting  close,  where  it  is  short, 
whicn  the  horse  and  the  sheep  are  able  to  do,  in  a degree 
that  one  could  hardly  expect.  The  retired  under  jaw  of  a 
swine  works  in  the  ground y after  the  protruding  snout,  lik'^, 


128 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY. 


a prong  or  ploughshare,  has  made  its  way  to  the  roots  upon 
which  it  feeds.  A conformation  so  happy  was  not  the  gift 
of  chance. 

In  birds,  this  organ  assumes  a new  character;  new  both 
in  substance  and  in  form;  but  in  both,  wonderfully  adapted 
to  the  wants  and  uses  of  a distinct  mode  of  existence.  We 
have  no  longer  the  fleshy  lips,  the  teeth  of  enamelled  bone; 
but  we  have,  in  the  place  of  these  two  parts,  and  to  perform 
the  office  of  both,  a hard  substance  (of  the  same  nature 
with  that  which  composes  the  nails,  claws,  and  hoofs  of 
quadrupeds)  cut  out  into  proper  shapes,  and  mechanically 
suited  to  the  actions  which  are  wanted.  The  sharp  edge 
and  tempered  point  of  the  sparrow's  bill  picks  almost  every 
kind  of  seed  from  its  concealment  in  the  plant;  and  not 
only  so,  but  hulls  the  grain,  breaks  and  shatters  the  coats 
of  the  seed,  in  order  to  get  at  the  kernel.  The  hooked  beak 
of  the  hawk  tribe  separates  the  flesh  from  the  bones  of  the 
animals  which  it  feeds  upon,  almost  with  the  cleanness  and 
precision  of  a dissector’s  knife.  The  butcher-bird  trans- 
fixes its  prey  upon  the  spike  of  a thorn,  whilst  it  picks  its 
bones.  In  some  birds  of  this  class,  we  have  the  a^oss  bill, 

e.  both  the  upper  and  lower  bill  hooked,  and  their  tips 
crossing.  The  sjwoii  bill,  enables  the  goose  to  graze,  to 
collect  its  food  from  the  bottom  of  pools,  or  to  seek  it 
amidst  the  soft  or  liquid  substances  with  which  it  is  mixed. 
The  long  tapering  bill  of  the  snipe  and  woodcock,  pene- 
trates still  deeper  into  moist  earth,  which  is  the  bed  in  which 
the  food  of  that  species  is  lodged.  This  is  exactly  the  in- 
strument which  the  animal  wanted.  It  did  not  want 
strength  in  its  bill,  which  was  inconsistent  with  the  slender 
form  of  the  animal’s  neck,  as  well  as  unnecessary  for  the 
Kind  of  aliment  upon  which  it  subsists;  but  it  wanted 
lengtli  to  reach  its  object. 

But  the  species  of  bill  which  belongs  to  birds  that  live 
by  suciion,  deserves  to  be  described  in  its  relation  to  that 
office.  They  are  what  naturalists  call  serrated  or  dentated 
bills;  the  inside  of  them,  towards  the  edge,  being  thickly 
set  with  parallel  or  concentric  rows  of  short,  strong,  sharp- 
pointed  prickles.  These,  though  they  should  be  called 
teeth,  are  not  for  the  purpose  of  mastication,  like  the  teeth 
of  quadrupeds;  nor  yet,  as  in  fish,  for  the  seizing  and  retain- 
ing of  their  prey;  but  for  a quite  different  use.  They 
form  a filter  The  duck  by  means  of  them  discusses  the 
mud;  examining  with  great  accuracy  the  puddle,  the  brake, 
every  mixtu»*e  which  is  likely  to  contain  her  food.  The 
operatior  is  thus  carried  on : — The  liquid  or  semi-liquid  sub- 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY. 


129 


stances,  in  which  the  animal  has  plunged  her  hi7,  she 
draws,  by  the  action  of  her  lungs,  through  tlie  narrow  in- 
terstices which  lie  between  these  teeth;  catching,  as  the 
stream  passes  across  her  beak,  whatever  it  may  happen  to 
bring  along  with  it,  that  proves  agreeable  to  her  choice, 
and  easily  dismissing  all  the  rest.  Now,  suppose  the  pur- 
pose to  have  been,  out  of  a mass  of  confused  heterogene- 
ous substances,  to  separate  for  the  use  of  the  animal,  or 
rather  to  enable  the  animal  to  separate  for  its  own,  those  few 
particles  which  suited  its  taste  and  digestion;  what  more 
artificial,  or  more  commodious  instrument  of  selection, 
could  have  been  given  to  it,  than  this  natural  filter?*  It  has 
been  observed,  also,  (what  must  enable  the  bird  to  choose 
and  distinguish  with  greater  acuteness,  as  well,  probably, 
as  what  increases  its  gratification  and  its  luxury,)  that  the 
bills  of  this  species  are  furnished  with  large  nerves,  that 
they  are  covered  with  a skin, — and  that  the  nerves  run 
down  to  the  very  extremity.  In  the  curlew,  woodcock,  and 
snipe,  there  are  three  pairs  of  nerves,  equal  almost  to  the 
optic  nerve  in  thickness,  which  pass  first  along  the  roof  of 
the  mouth,  and  then  along  the  upper  chap,  down  to  the 
point  of  the  bill,  long  as  the  bill  is.  [PI.  XXIII.  fig.  1.] 

But  to  return  to  the  train  of  our  observations. — The  sim- 
ilitude between  the  bills  of  birds  and  the  mouths  of  quad- 
rupeds, is  exactly  such  as,  for  the  sake  of  the  argument, 
might  be  wished  for.  It  is  near  enough  to  show  the  con- 
tinuation of  the  same  plan;  it  is  remote  enough  to  exclude 
the  supposition  of  the  difference  being  produced  by  action 
or  use.  A more  prominent  contour,  or  a wider  gape  might 
be  resolved  into  the  effect  of  continued  efforts,  on  the  part 
of  the  species,  to  thrust  out  the  mouth,  or  open  it  to  the 
stretch.  But  by  what  course  of  action,  or  exercise,  or  en- 
deavour, shall  we  get  rid  of  the  lips,  the  gums,  the  teeth ; 
and  acquire,  in  the  place  of  them,  pincers  of  horn?  By 
what  habit  shall  we  so  completely  change,  not  only  the 
shape  of  the  part,  but  the  substance  of  which  it  is  compos- 
ed? The  truth  is,  if  we  had  seen  no  other  than  the  months 
of  quadrupeds,  we  should  have  thought  no  other  could  have 
been  formed:  little  could  we  have  supposed,  that  all  the 
purposes  of  a m^uth  furnished  with  lips,  and  armed  with 

* There  is  a remarkable  contrivance  of  this  kind  in  the  genus  halcpna, 
or  proper  whale.  Numerous  parallel  plates  of  the  substance  called 
whalebone,  cover  the  palatine  surface  of  the  uper  jaw,  and  descend  ver- 
tically into  the  mouth;  the  lower  edges  are  fringed  by  long  fibres,  whicr^ 
serve  the  vinimal,  when  taking  in  the  water,  to  retain  the  rnofiuscse, 
with  whi  h the  water  abounds,  and  which  constitute  its  food. — Paxton 


130 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY. 


leeth,  could  be  answered  by  an  instrument  which  had  none 
of  these;  c(  uld  be  supplied,  and  that  with  many  additional 
advantages,  by  the  hardness,  and  sharpness,  and  figure  of 
the  bills  of  birds. 

JEverything  about  the  animal  mouih  is  mechanical.  The 
teeth  of  fish  have  their  points  turned  backward,  like  the 
teeth  of  a wool  or  cotton  card.  The  teeth  of  lobsters  work 
one  against  another,  like  the  sides  of  a pair  of  shears.  In 
many  insects,  the  mouth  is  converted  into  a pump  or  sucker, 
fitted  at  the  end  sometimes  with  a wimble,  sometimes  with 
a forceps;  by  which  double  provisions,  viz.  of  the  tube  and 
the  penetrating  form  of  the  point,  the  insect  first  bores 
through  the  integuments  of  its  prey,  and  thejn  extracts  the 
juices.  And,  what  is  most  extraordinary  of  all,  one  sort  of 
mouth,  as  the  occasion  requires,  shall  be  changed  into  an- 
other sort.  The  caterpillar  could  not  live  without  teeth; 
in  several  species,  the  butterfly  formed  from  it  could  not 
use  them.  The  old  teeth  therefore,  are  cast  off  with  the 
exuviae  of  the  grub ; a new  and  totally  different  apparatus  as- 
sumes their  place  in  the  fly.  Amid  these  novelties  of  form, 
we  sometimes  forget  that  it  is,  all  the  while,  the  animal's 
mouih;  that,  whether  it  be  lips,  or  teeth,  or  bill,  or  beak, 
or  shears,  or  pump,  it  is  the  same  part  diversified:  and  it 
is  also  remarkable,  that,  under  all  the  varieties  of  configura- 
tion with  which  we  are  acquainted,  and  which  are  very 
great,  the  organs  of  taste  and  smelling  are  situated  near 
each  other. 

III.  To  the  mouth  adjoins  the  gullet:  in  this  part  also, 
comparative  anatomy  discovers  a difference  of  structure, 
adapted  to  the  different  necessities  of  the  animal.  In 
brutes,  because  the  posture  of  their  neck  conduces  little 
to  the  passage  of  the  aliment,  the  fibres  of  the  gullet,  which 
act  in  this  business,  run  in  two  close  spiral  lines,  crossing 
each  other:  in  men  these  fibres  run  only  a little  obliquely 
from  the  upper  end  of  the  oesophagus  to  the  stomach,  into 
which,  by  a gentle  contraction,  they  easily  transmit  the 
descending  morsels;  that  is  to  say,  for  the  more  laborious 
deglutition  of  animals,  which  thrust  their  food  up  instead 
of  doivn,  and  also  through  a longer  passage,  a proportion- 
ably  more  powerful  apparatus  of  muscles  is  provided;  more 
powerful,  rot  merely  by  the  strength  of  the  fibres,  which 
might  be  attributed  to  the  greater  exercise  of  their  force, 
but  in  their  collocation,  which  is  a dctcruiinate  circum- 
stance, and  must  have  been  original. 

JV.  The  gullet  leads  to  the  i)iicsfi)u\s ; here,  likewise, 
as  before,  comparing  quadrupeds  with  man,  under  a gene- 


COMPARATIVE  ..NAPOMY. 


.31 


ral  simili.ude  we  meet  with  appropriate  difTerences.  The 
valvulce  conniventes,  or,  as  they  are  by  some  called,  the 
semilunar  valves,  found  in  the  human  intestine,  are  want- 
ing in  that  of  brutes.  These  are  wrinkles  or  plaits  of  the 
innermost  coat  of  the  guts,  the  effect  of  which  is,  to  retard 
the  progress  of  the  food  through  the  alimentary  canal.  It 
is  easy  to  understand  how  much  more  necessary  such  a 
provision  may  be  to  the  body  of  an  animal  of  an  erect  pos- 
ture, and  in  which,  consequently,  the  weight  of  the  food 
IS  added  to  the  action  of  the  intestine,  than  in  that  of  a 
quadruped,  in  which  the  course  of  the  food,  from  its  en- 
trance to  its  exit,  is  nearly  horizontal:  but  it  is  impossible 
to  assign  any  cause,  except  the  final  cause,  for  this  distinc- 
tion actually  taking  place.*  [PI.  XXIII.  fig.  2.]  So  far 
as  depends  upon  the  action  of  the  part,  this  structure  was 
more  to  be  expected  in  a quadruped  than  in  a man.  In 
truth,  it  must  in  both  have  been  formed,  not  by  action,  but 
in  direct  opposition  to  action,  and  to  pressure ; but  the  op- 
position which  would  arise  from  pressure,  is  greater  in  the 
upright  trunk  than  in  any  other.  That  theory  therefore  is 
pointedly  contradicted  by  the  example  before  us.  The 
structure  is  found  where  its  generation,  according  to  the 
method  by  which  the  theorist  would  have  it  generated,  is 
the  most  difficult;  bilt  (observe)  it  is  found  where  its  effect 
is  most  useful. 

The  different  length  of  the  intestines  in  carnivorous  and 
herbivorous  animals,  has  been  noticed  on  a former  occasion. 
The  shortest,  I believe,  is  that  of  some  birds  of  prey,  in 
which  the  intestinal  canal  is  little  more  than  a straight  pas- 
sage from  the  mouth  to  the  vent.  The  longest  is  in  the 
deer  kind.  The  intestines  of  a Canadian  stag,  four  feet 
high,  measured  ninety-six  feet.|  The  intestines  of  a sheep, 
unravelled,  measures  thirty  times  the  length  of  the  body 
The  intestines  of  a wild  cat  is  only  three  times  the  length 
of  the  body.  Universally,  where  the  subst^ce  upon  which 
the  animal  feeds  is  of  slow  concoction,  or  yields  its  chyle 

It  may  be  questioned,  whether  these  extremely  soft  rugae  cr  folds 
of  the  villous  coat  of  the  intestine  can  in  the  least  retard  the  passage  of 
the  food  through  its  canal  ; nor  does  the  erect  attitude  of  man  require 
them  ; for  since  there  are  as  many  of  the  convolutions  of  the  intestines 
ascending  as  there  are  descending,  the  weight  of  the  food  can  have  no 
influence  in  the  action  of  the  intestine:  it  is  certain,  however,  that  this 
arrangement  of  the  internal  coat,  affords  a moi'e  extenswe  surface  for 
the  lacteals  and  secreting  vessels  ; and  this  appears  to  be  the  real  use 
of  the  valvulce  conniventes. — Paxton, 

i Mem.  of  Acad.  Paris,  1701,  p.  170 


132 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY. 


With  lAore  difficulty,  there  the  passage  is  circuitous  and 
dilatory,  that  time  and  space  may  be  allowed  for  the  change 
and  the  absorption  which  are  necessary.  Where  the  food 
^is  soon  dissolved,  or  already  half  assimilated,  an  unneces- 
sary, or  perhaps  hurtful,  detention  is  avoided,  by  giving  to 
it  a shorter  and  a readier  route. 

V.  In  comparing  the  hones  of  different  animals,  we  are 
struck,  in  the  bones  of  birds,  with  a propriety,  which  could 
only  proceed  from  the  wisdom  of  an  intelligent  and  design- 
ing Creator.  In  the  bones  of  an  animal  which  is  to  fly,  the 
two  qualities  required  are  strength  anc  lightness.  Where- 
in, therefore,  do  the  bones  of  birds  (I  speak  of  the  cylindri- 
cal bones)  differ  in  these  respects  from  the  bones  of  quad- 
rupeds ? In  three  properties;  first,  their  cavities  are  much 
larger  in  proportion  to  the  weight  of  the  bone  than  in  those 
of  quadrupeds;  secondly,  these  cavities  are  empty;  thirdly, 
the  shell  is  of  a firmer  texture  than  the  substance  of  other 
bones.  It  is  easy  to  observe  those  particulars,  even  in 
picking  the  wing  or  leg  of  a chicken.  Now,  the  weight 
being  the  same,  the  diameter,  it  is  evident,  will  be  greater 
in  a hollow  bone  than  in  a solid  one,  and  with  the  diame- 
ter, as  every  mathematician  can  prove,  is  increased,  cceteiis 
paribus,  the  strength  of  the  cylinder,  or  its  resistance  to 
breaking.  In  a w’ord,  a bone  of  the  same  weight  would 
not  have  been  so  strong  in  any  other  form;  and  to  have 
made  it  heavier,  would  have  incommoded  the  animal’s 
flight.  Yet  this  form  could  not  be  acquired  by  use,  or  the 
bone  become  hollow  and  tubular  by  exercise.  What  appe- 
tency could  excavate  a bone.^ 

VI.  The  lungs  also  of  birds,  as  compared  with  the  lungs 
of  quadrupeds,  contain  in  them  a provision,  distinguishingly 
calculated  for  this  same  purpose  of  levitation;  namely,  a 
communication  (not  found  in  other  kinds  of  animals)  be- 
tween the  air-vessels  of  the  lungs  and  the  cavities  of  the 
body;  so  that  by  the  intromission  of  air  from  one  to  the 
other  (at  the  will,  as  it  should  seem,  of  fie  animal,)  its  body 
can  be  occasionally  puffed  out,  and  its  tendency  to  descend 
in  the  air,  or  its  specific  gravity,  made  less.  The  bodies 
of  birds  are  blown  up  from  their  lungs  (which  no  other  ani- 
mal bodies  are,)  and  thus  rendered  buoyant. 

VII.  All  birds  are  oviparous.  This  likewise  carries 
on  the  work  of  gestation  with  as  little  increase  as  possible 
of  the  weight  of  the  body.  A gravid  uterus  would  have 
been  a troublesome  burden  to  a bird  in  its  flight.  The  ad- 
vantage, in  this  respect,  of  an  oviparous  procreation  is,  that 
whilst  the  whole  brood  are  hatched  together,  the  eggs  are 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY. 


133 


excluded  singly,  and  at  considerable  intervals.  Ten,  fif- 
teen, or  twenty  young  birds  may  be  produced  in  one  cletch 
or  covey,  yet  the  parent  bird  have  never  been  encum- 
bered by  the  load  of  more  than  one  full-^rown  egg  at  one 
time. 

VIII.  A principal  topic  of  comparison  between  animals, 
is  in  their  instruments  of  motion.  These  come  before  us 
under  three  divisions;  feet,  wings,  and  fins.  I desire  any 
man  to  sa}  ^ which  of  the  three  is  best  fitted  for  its  use;  or 
whether  the  same  consummate  art  be  not  conspicuous  in 
them  all.  The  constitution  of  the  elements  in  which  the 
motion  is  to  be  performed,  is  very  different.  The  animal 
action  must  necessarily  follow  that  constitution.  The 
Creator,  therefore,  if  we  might  so  speak,  had  to  prepare  for 
difierent  situations,  for  different  difficulties ; yet  the  purpose 
is  accomplished  not  less  successfully  in  one  case  than  in  the 
otner;  and,  as  between  wings  and  the  corresponding  limbs 
of  quadrupeds,  it  is  accomplished  without  deserting  the 
general  idea.  The  idea  is  modified,  not  deserted.  Strip 
a wing  of  its  feathers,  and  it  bears  no  obscure  resemblance 
to  the  fore  leg  of  a quadruped.  The  articulations  at  the 
shoulder  and  the  cubitus  are  much  alike;  and,  what  is  a 
closer  circumstance,  in  both  cases  the  upper  part  of  the 
limb  consists  of  a single  bone,  the  lower  part  of  two. 

But,  fitted  up  with  its  furniture  of  feathers  and  quills,  it 
becomes  a wonderful  instrument,  more  artificial  than  its 
first  appearance  indicsites,  though  that  be  very  striking:  at 
least,  the  use  which  the  bird  makes  of  its  wings  in  flying 
is  more  complicated,  and  more  curious,  than  is  generally 
known.  One  thing  is  certain,  that  if  the  flapping  of  the 
wings  in  flight  were  no  more  than  the  reciprocal  motion  of 
the  same  surface  in  opposite  directions,  either  upwards  and 
downwards,  or  estimated  in  any  oblique  line,  the  bird 
would  lose  as  much  by  one  motion  as  she  gained  by  another. 
The  skylark  could  never  ascend  by  such  an  action  as  this ; 
for,  though  the  stroke  upon  the  air  by  the  underside  of  her 
wing  would  carry  her  up,  the  stroke  from  the  upper  side, 
when  she  raised  her  wing  again,  would  bring  her  down. 
In  order,  therefore,  to  account  for  the  advantage  which  the 
bird  derives  from  her  wing,  it  is  necessary  to  suppose  that 
the  surface  of  the  wing,  measured  upon  the  same  plane,  is 
contracted  whilst  the  wing  is  drawn  up;  and  let  out  to  its 
full  expansion,  when  it  descends  upon  the  air  for  the  pur- 
pose of  moving  the  body  by  the  reaction  of  that  element. 
Now,  the  form  and  structure  of  the  wing,  its  external  con- 
vexity, the  disposition,  and  particularly  the  overlapping, 

M 


134 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY. 


of  its  larger  feathers,  the  action  of  the  muscles,  ^ and  oints 
of  the  pinions,  are  all  adapted  to  this  alternate  adjustment 
of  its  shape  and  dimensions.  Such  a twist,  for  instance, 
or  semirotatory  motion,  is  given  tg  the  great  feathers  of  the 
wing,  that  they  strike  the  air  with  their  flat  side,  but  rise 
from  the  stroke  slantwise.  The  turning  of  the  oar  in  row- 
ing whilst  the  rower  advances  his  hand  for  a new  stroke, 
is  a similar  operation  to  that  of  the  feather,  and  takes  its 
name  from  the  resemblance.  I believe  that  this  faculty  is 
not  found  in  the  great  feathers  of  the  tail.  This  is  the 
place  also  for  observing,  that  the  pinions  are  so  set  up- 
on the  body,  as  to  bring  down  the  wings,  not  vertically, 
but  in  a direction  obliquely  tending  towards  the  tail;  which 
motion,  by  virtue  of  the  common  resolution  of  forces,  does 
two  things  at  the  same  time ; supports  the  body  in  the  air, 
and  carries  it  forward. 

The  steerage  of  a bird  in  its  flight  is  effected  partly 
by  the  wing^^  *yut  in  a principal  degree  by  the  tail.  And 
herein  we  meet  with  a circumstance  not  a little  remarka- 
ble. Birds  with  long  legs  have  short  tails,  and  in  their 
flight  place  their  legs  close  to  their  bodies,  at  the  same 
time  stretching  them  out  backwards  as  far  as  they  can. 
[n  this  position  the  legs  extend  beyond  the  rump,  and  be- 
come the  rudder;  supplying  that  steerage  which  the  tail 
could  not. 

From  the  win^s  of  birds,  the  transition  is  easy  to  the 
jins  of  fish.  They  are  both,  to  their  respective  tribes,  the 
instruments  of  their  motion;  but  in  the  work  which  they 
have  to  do,  there  is  a considerable  difference,  founded  on 
this  circumstance.  Fish,  unlike  birds,  have  very  nearly 
the  same  specific  gravity  with  the  element  in  which  they 
move.'  In  the  case  of  fish,  therefore,  there  is  little  or  no 
weight  to  bear  up;  what  is  wanted,  is  only  an  impulse  suffi- 
cient to  carry  the  body  through  a resisting  medium,  or  to 
maintain  the  posture,  or  to  support  or  restore  the  balance 
of  the  body,  which  is  always  the  most  unsteady  where 
(here  is  no  weight  to  sink  it.  For  these  offices  the  fins  are 
as  large  as  necessary,  though  much  smaller  than  wings, 

* There  are  three  powerful  muscles  (the  fleshy  part  of  the  breast) 
called  pectoral  muscles,  which,  with  other  smaller  on  the  bones  of  the 
wing  which  are  analogous  to  the  arm,  press  with  vigor  on  the  air,  the 
elasticity  of  which  gives  support.  “ And  it  is  remarkable  that  the  gene- 
ral resemblance  which  the  best  form  of  windmill  sails  bears  to  the  fea- 
thers of  the  vviogs  of  birds  is  striking,  and  one  of  those  beautiful  instance# 
of  truly  mathematical  principles  om  which  the  works  of  creation  are  con 
structed.  * ’ — Paxton, 


COMPARATIVE  ANx  POMY. 


135 


their  action  mechanical,  their  position,  and  the  muscles  by 
which  they  are  moved,  in  the  highest  degree  convenient 
The  following  short  account  of  some  experiments  upon  fish, 
made  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  the  use^of  their  fins,  will 
be  the  best  confirmation  of  what  we  assert.  In  most  fish, 
beside  the  great  fin,  the  tail,  we  find  two  pair  of  fins  upon 
the  sides,  two  single  fins  upon  the  back,  and  one  upon  the 
belly,  or  rather  between  the  belly  and  the  tail.  The  bal- 
ancing use  of  these  organs  is  proved  in  this  manner.  Of 
the  large-headed  fish,  if  you  cut  off  the  pectoral  fins,  i.  e. 
the  pair  which  lies  close  behind  the  gills,  the  head  falls 
prone  to  the  bottom;  if  the  right  pectoral  fin  only  be  cut 
off,  the  fish  leans  to  that  side;  if  the  ventral  fin  on  the 
same  side  be  cut  away,  then  it  loses  its  equilibrium  entire- 
ly; if  the  dorsal  and  ventral  fins  be  cut  off,  the  fish  reels 
to  the  right  and  left.  When  the  fish  dies,  that  is,  when 
the  fins  cease  to  play, 'the  belly  turns  upwards.  The  use 
of  the  same  parts  for  motion  is  seen  in  the  following  obser- 
vation upon  them  when  put  in  action.  The  pectoral,  and 
particularly  the  ventral  fins,  serve  to  raise  and  depress 
the  fish:  when  the  fish  desires  to  have  a 7'eiro grade  motion, 
a stroke  forward  with  the  pectoral  fin  effectually  produces 
it;  if  the  fish  desire  to  tmm  either  way,  a single  blow  with 
the  tail  the  opposite  way,  sends  it  round  at  once:  if  the 
tail  strike  both  ways,  the  motion  produced  by  the  double 
lash  is  progressive,  and  enables  the  fish  to  dart  forwards 
with  an  astonishing  velocity.*  The  result  is  not  only  in 
some  cases  the  most  rapid,  but  in  all  cases  the  most  ger- 
tle,  pliant,  easy  animal  motion  with  which  we  are  acquain. 
ed.  However,  when  the  tail  is  cut  off,  the  fish  loses  a 
motion,  and  gives  itself  up  to  where  the  water  impels  it 
The  rest  of  the  fins,  therefore,  so  far  as  respects  motion 
seem  to  be  merely  subsidiary  to  this.  In  their  mechanical 
use,  the  anal  fin  may  be  reckoned  the  keel;  the  ventral 
fins,  out-riggers;  the  pectoral  muscles,  the  oars:  and  if 
there  be  any  similitude  between  these  parts  of  a boat  and 
a fish,  observe,  that  it  is  not  the  resemblance  of  imitation, 
bat  the  likeness  which  arises  from  applying  similar  me- 
chanical means  to  the  same  purpose. 

We  have  seen  that  the  tail  in  the  fish  is  the  great  in- 
strument of  motion.  Now,  in  cetaceous  or  warm-blooded 

’^Goldsmith’s  History  of  Animated  Nature,  vol.  iv.  p.  154.  The 
velocity  with  which  fish  swim  from  one  part  of  the  globe  to  another  is 
astonishing;  when  a ship  is  sailing  at  the  rate  of  fourteen  miles  an  hour, 
the  porpoises  will  pass  it  with  as  much  ease  as  when  at  anchor. 

Paxton. 


136 


COMPAR.VTIVE  ANATOMY 


fish,  which  are  obliged  to  rise  every  two  or  three  minutes 
to  the  surface  to  take  breath,  the  tail,  unlike  what  it  is  in 
other  fish,  is  horizontal;  its  stroke  consequently  perpen 
dicular  to  the  horizon,  which  is  the  right  direction  foi 
sending  the  fish  to  the  top,  or  carrying  it  down  to  the  bot« 
tom. 

Regarding  animals  in  their  instruments  of  motion  we 
have  only  followed  the  comparison  through  the  first  great 
division  of  animals  into  beasts,  birds,  and  fish.  If  it  were 
our  intention  to  pursue  the  consideration  farther,  I should 
take  in  that  generic  distinction  amongst  birds,  the  weh^ 
foot  of  water-fowl.  It  is  an  instance  which  may  be  point- 
ed out  to  a child.  The  utility  of  the  web  to  water-fowl, 
the  inutility  to  land-fowl,  are  so  obvious,  that  it  seems  im- 
possible to  notice  the  difference  without  acknowledging 
the  design.  I am  at  a loss  to  know,  how  those  who  deny 
the  agency  of  an  intelligent  Creator,  dispose  of  this  exam- 
ple. There  is  nothing  in  the  action  of  swimming,  as  car- 
ried on  by  a bird  upon  the  surface  of  the  water,  that  should 
generate  a membrane  between  the  toes.  As  to  that  mem- 
brane, it  is  an  exercise  of  constant  resistance.  The  only 
supposition  I can  think  of  is,  jhat  all  birds  have  been  orig- 
inally water-fowl,  and  web-footed;  that  sparrows,  hawks, 
linnets,  &c.  which  frequent  the  land,  have,  in  process 
of  time,  and  in  the  course  of  many  generations,  had  this 
part  worn  away  by  treading  upon  hard  ground.  To  such 
evasive  assumptions  must  atheism  always  have  recourse! 
and,  after  all,  it  confesses  that  the  structure  of  the  feet 
of  birds,  in  their  original  form,  was  critically  adapted  to 
their  original  destination!  The  web-feet  of  amphibious 
quadrupeds,  seals,  otters.  Sic.  fall  under  the  same  obser- 
vation. 

IX.  The  Jive  senses  are  common  to  most  large  ani- 
mals: nor  have  we  much  difference  to  remark  in  their  con- 
stitution; or  much,  however,  which  is  referable  to  mech- 
anism. 

The  superior  sagacity  of  animals  which  hunt  their  prey, 
and  which,  consequently,  depend  for  their  livelihood  upon 
their  nose,  is  well  known  in  its  use;  but  not  at  all  known 
in  the  organization  which  produces  it. 

The  external  ears  of  beasts  of  prey,  of  lions,  tigers, 
wolves,  have  their  trumpet  part,  or  concavity,  standing  for- 
wards, to  seize  the  sounds  which  are  before  them,  viz.  the 
sounds  of  the  animals  which  they  pursue  or  watch.  The 
ears  of  animals  of  flight  are  turned  backward,  to  give  no- 
tice of  the  approach  of  their  enemy  from  behind,  whence 


PECULIAR  ORGANIZATIONS 


137 


he  miy  steal  upon  them  unseen.  This  is  a critical  distinc- 
tion; and  is  mechanical:  but  it  may  be  suggested,  and  1 
think  not  without  probability,  that  it  is  the  efiect  of  con 
tinned  habit. 

The  eyes  of  animals  which  follow  their  prey  by  nighty 
as  cats,  owls,  &c.  possess  a faculty  not  given  to  those  or 
other  species,  namely,  of  closing  the  pupil  entwely.  The 
final  cause  of  which  seems  to  be  this: — It  was  necessary 
for  such  animals  to  be  able  to  descry  objects  with  very 
small  degrees  of  light.  This  capacity  depended  upon  the 
superior  sensibility  of  the  retina;  that  is,  upon  its  being 
affected  by  the  most  feeble  impulses.  But  that  tenderness 
of  structure,  which  rendered  the  membrane  thus  exquisite- 
ly sensible,  rendered  it  also  liable  to  be  offended  by  the 
access  of  stronger  degrees  of  light.  The  contractile  range, 
therefore,  of  the  pupil  is  increased  in  these  animals,  so  as 
to  enable  them  to  close  the  aperture  entirely:  which  in- 
cludes the  power  of  diminishing  it  in  every  degree ; where- 
by at  all  times  such  portions,  and  only  such  portions  of 
light  are  admitted,  as  may  be  received  without  injury  to 
.he  sense. 

There  appears  to  be  also  in  the  figure,  and  in  some  prop- 
erties of  the  pupil  of  the  eye,  an  appropriate  relation  to 
the  wants  of  different  animals.  In  horses,  oxen,  goats, 
sheep,  the  pupil  of  the  eye  is  elliptical;  the  transverse 
axis  being  horizontal;  by  which  structure,  although  the 
eye  be  placed  on  the  side  of  the  head,  the  anterior  elon- 
gation of  the  pupil  catches  the  forward  rays,  or  those 
which  come  from  objects  immediately  in  front  of  the  ani- 
mal's face 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PECULIAR  ORGANIZATIONS. 

I BELIEVE  that  all  the  instances  which  I shall  collect 
under  this  title,  might,  consistently  enough  with  technical 
language,  have  been  placed  under  the  head  of  Comparative 
Jinatomy.  But  there  appears  to  me  an  impropriety  in  the 
use  which  that  term  hath  obtained:  it  being,  in  some  sort, 
absurd  to  call  that  a case  of  Comparative  Anatomy,  in 
which  there  is  mthing  to  ‘‘compare;"  in  which  a confer 
mat’or  is  found  in  one  animal,  which  hath  nothing  proper- 

M 


138 


PECULIAR  ORGANIZATIONS. 


ly  answerirg  to  it  in  another.*  Of  this  kind  are  the  exam- 
ples which  1 have  to  propose  in  the  present  chapter:  and 
tlie  reader  will  see  that,  though  some  of  them  be  the  strong- 
est, perhaps,  he  will  meet  with  under  any  division  of  our 
subject,  they  must  necessarily  be  of  an  unconnected  and 
miscellaneous  nature.  To  dispose  them,  however,  into 
some  sort  of  order,  we  will  notice  first,  particularities  of 
structure  which  belong  to  quadrupeds,  birds,  and  fish,  as 
such,  or  to  many  of  the  kinds  included  in  these  classes  of 
animals;  and  then,  such  particularities  as  are  confined  to 
one  or  two  species. 

I.  Along  each  side  of  the  neck  of  large  quadrupeds, 
rans  a stiff,  robust  ligament,  which  butchers  call  the 
pax  wax.  No  person  can  carve  the  upper  end  of  a crop  of 
beef  without  driving  his  knife  against  it.  It  is  a tough, 
strong,  tendinous  substance,  braced  from  the  head  to  the 
middle  of  the  back;  its  office  is  to  assist  in  supporting  the 
weight  of  the  head.  It  is  a mechanical  provision,  of  which 
this  is  the  undisputed  use;  and  it  is  sufficient,  and  not 
more  than  sufficient,  for  the  purpose  which  it  has  to  exe- 
cute. The  head  of  an  ox  or  a horse  is  a heavy  weight, 
acting  at  the  end  of  along  lever,  (consequently  with  a great 
purchase,)  and  in  a direction  nearly  perpendicular  to  the 
joints  of  the  supporting  neck.  From  such  a force,  so  ad- 
vantageously applied,  the  bones  of  the  neck  would  be 
in  constant  danger  of  dislocation,  if  they  were  not  fortified 
by  this  strong  tape.  No  such  organ  is  found  in  the  hu- 
man subject,  because,  from  the  erect  position  of  the  head, 
(the  pressure  of  it  acting  nearly  in  the  direction  of  the 
spine,)  the  junction  of  the  vertebrae  appears  to  be  sufficient- 
ly secure  without  it.  This  cautionary  expedient,  therefore, 
is  limited  to  quadrupeds:  the  care  of  the  Creator  is  seen 
where  it  is  wanted. 

*The  objection  here  made  to  the  use  of  the  term,  Comparative  Anato- 
my, does  not  seem  well  founded.  As  commonly  employed,  it  is  intended 
to  designate  the  anatomy  of  animals  compared  with  that  of  men  and  of 
one  another.  It  is  only  by  comparison  that  the  use  of  parts  can  be  dis- 
oov^cred.  Generally,  conformations  found  in  one  animal  have  something 
corresponding  to  them  in  other  animals;  but  even  where  this  is  not  the 
case,  a comparison  is  not  the  less  necessary  to  discover  the  use  of  the 
conformation.  Thus,  particularly,  in  the  first  instance  mentioned  by  the 
author,  he  points  out  the  function  of  the  pax  wax  by  the  very  process 
which  he  affirms  cannot  have  place.  It  is  by  comparing  the  neck  of  large 
quadrupeds  in  which  this  provision  is  found,  with  that  of  man  in  which  it 
is  not  found,  and  by  comparing  the  position  maintained  by  man  with  that 
maintaincil  hy  quadrupeds,  that  he  illustrates  the  object  for  which  this 
nrovisic  i is  made. — Kd. 


PECULIAR  ORGANIZATIONS. 


139 


II.  The  oil  with  whicli  birds  prune  their  feathers,  and 
the  organ  which  supplies  it,  is  a specific  provision  for  the 
winged  creation.  On  each  side  of  the  rump  of  birds  is  ob- 
served a small  nipple,  yielding  upon  pressure  a butter-like 
substance,  which  the  bird  extracts  by  pinching  the  pap  with 
its  bill.  With  this  oil,  or  ointment,  thus  procured,  the  bird 
dresses  its  coat;  and  repeats  the  action  as  often  as  its  own 
sensations  teach  it  that  it  is  in  any  part  wanted,  or  as  the  ex- 
cretion may  be  sufficient  for  the  expense.  The  gland,  the 
pap,  the  nature  and  quality  of  the  excreted  substance,  the 
manner  of  obtaining  it  from  its  lodgment  in  the  body,  the 
application  of  it  when  obtained,  form,  collectively,  an  evi- 
dence of  intention  which  it  is  not  easy  to  withstand.  Noth- 
ing similar  to  it  is  found  in  unfeathered  animals.  What 
blind  conrtto  of  nature  should  produce  it  in  birds  should 
not  produce  it  in  beasts.^ 

III.  The  air-bladder  also  of  a fish,  [PI.  XXTII.  fig.  3,]  af- 
fords a plain  and  direct  instance,  not  only  of  contrivance, 
but  strictly  of  that  species  of  contrivance  which  we  denom- 
inate mechanical.  It  is  a philosophical  apparatus  in  the  body 
of  an  animal.  The  principle  of  the  contrivance  is  clear ; the 
application  of  the  principle  is  also  clear.  The  use  of  the  or- 
gan to  sustain,  and,  at  will,  also  to  elevate  the  body  of  the 
fish  in  the  water,  is  proved  by  observing,  what  has  been  tried, 
that,  when  the  bladder  is  burst,  the  fish  grovels  at  the  bot- 
tom; and  also,  that  flounders,  soles,  skates,  which  are  with- 
out the  air-bladder,  seldom  rise  in  the  water,  and  that,  with 
effort.  The  manner  in  which  the  purpose  is  attained,  and 
the  suitableness  of  the  means  to  the  end,  are  not  difticult 
to  be  apprehended.  The  rising  and  sinking  of  a fish  in 
water,  so  far  as  it  is  independent  of  the  stroke  of  the  fins 
and  tail,  can  only  be  regulated  by  the  specific  gravity  of 
the  body.  When  the  bladder  contained  in  the  body  of 
the  fish,  is  contracted,  which  the  fish  probably  possesses  a 
muscular  power  of  doing,  the  bulk  of  the  fish  is  contracted 
along  with  it;«whereby,  since  the  absolute  weight  remains 
the  same,  the  specific  gravity,  which  is  the  sinking  force, 
is  increased,  and  the  fish  descends;  on  the  contrary,  when, 
in  consequence  of  the  relaxation  of  the  muscles,  the  elas- 
ticity of  the  enclosed  and  now  compressed  air  restores  the 
dimensions  of  the  bladder,  the  tendency  downwards  be- 
comes proportionably  less  than  it  was  before,  or  is  turned 
into  a contrary  tendency.  These  are  known  properties  of 
bodies  immersed  in  a fluid.  The  enamelled  figures,  or 
little  glass  bubbles,  in  a jar  of  water,  are  made  to  rise  and 
fall  by  thf  same  artifice.  A diving  machine  might  be 


140 


PECULIAR  ORGANIZATIONS. 


made  to  ascend  and  descend,  upon  the  like  princ  pie ; name- 
ly, by  introducing  into  the  inside  of  it  an  air-vessel,  which 
hy  its  contraction  would  diminish,  and  by  its  distension  en- 
large, the  bulk  of  the  machine  itself,  and  thus  render  it 
specifically  heavier,  or  specifically  lighter,  than  the  water 
which  surrounds  it.  Suppose  this  to  be  done,  and  the  ar- 
tist to  solicit  a patent  for  his  invention:  the  inspectors  of 
the  model,  whatever  they  might  think  of  the  use  or  value 
of  the  contrivance,  could,  by  no  possibility,  entertain  a 
question  in  their  minds,  whether  it  were  a contrivance  or 
not.  No  reason  has  ever  been  assigned — no  reason  can  be 
assigned,  why  the  conclusion  is  not  as  certain  in  the  fish 
as  it  is  in  the  machine;  why  the  argument  is  not  as  firm  in 
one  case  as  the  other. 

It  would  be  very  worthy  of  inquiry,  if  it  were  possible  to 
discover,  by  what  method  an  animal,  which  lives  constantly 
in  water,  is  able  to  supply  a repository  of  air.  The  ex 
pedient,  whatever  it  be,  forms  part,  and  perhaps  the  most 
curious  part,  of  the  provision  * Nothing  similar  to  the  air- 
bladder,  is  found  in  land-animals;  and  a life  in  the  water 
has  no  natural  tendency  to  produce  a bag  of  air.  Nothing 
can  be  farther  from  an  acquired  organization  than  this  is. 

These  examples  mark  the  attention  of  the  Creator  to 
the  three  great  kingdoms  of  his  animal  creation,  and  to  their 
constitution  as  such. — The  example  which  stands  next  in 
point  of  generality,  belonging  to  a large  tribe  of  animals,  or 
rather  to  various  species  of  that  tribe,  is  the  poisonous  tooth 
of  serpents. 

I.  The  fang  cf  a viper  is  a clear  and  curious  example 
of  mechanical  contrivance.  [PI.  XXIII.  fig.  4,  5.]  It  is  a 
perforated  tooth,  loose  at  the  root:  in  its  quiet  state,  lying 
down  flat  upon  the  jaw,  but  furnished  with  a muscle,  which 
with  a jerk,  and  by  the  pluck  as  it  were  of  a string,  sud- 
denly erects  it.  Under  the  tooth,  close  to  its  root,  and 
communicating  with  the  perforation,  lies  a small  bag  con- 
taining the  venom.  When  the  fang  is  raised,  the  closing  of 
the  jaw  presses  its  root  against  the  bag  underneath,  and  the 

* Much  obscurity  still  exists  concerning  the  exact  purpose  which  the 
air-bag  is  intended  to  perform.  13ut  with  regard  to  the  manner  in  which 
it  is  supplied  with  air,  there  seems  no  reason  to  doubt  that  it  is  effected 
by  a secretion  from  the  blood.  It  is  an  established  fact  in  physiology, 
that  many  of  the  internal  surfaces  of  the  body  have  the  power  of  producing 
gases  in  this  way.  In  the  air-bag  of  many  fishes  a very  vascular  organ  is 
found  which  has  been  called  the  air-gland;  and  in  some  species  vessels 
have  been  discovered  conveying  the  air  from  this  gland  into  the  cavity  of 
the  bag.  Even  where  this  gland  does  not  exist,  it  is  probable  that  the  in- 
leriial  surface  of  ths  oag  may  perform  the  snr-ne  office. — Ed. 


PECULIAR  ORGANIZATIONS. 


141 


force  of  this  compression  sends  out  the  fluid  with  a con 
siderable  impetus  through  the  tube  in  the  middle  of  the 
tooth.  What  more  unequivocal,  or  effectual  apparatus 
could  be  devised,  for  the  double  purpose  of  at  once  inflic- 
ting .he  wound  and  injecting  the  poison?  Yet,  though 
lodged  in  the  mouth,  it  is  so  constituted,  as,  in  its  inoffen- 
sive and  quiescent  state,  not  to  interfere  with  the  animafs 
ordinary  office  of  receiving  its  food.  It  has  been  observed 
also,  that  none  of  the  harmless  serpents,  the  black  snake, 
the  blind  worm,  8tc.  have  these  fangs,  but  teeth  of  an  equal 
size;  not  movable,  as  this  is,  but  fixed  into  the  jaw. 

II.  In  being  the  property  of  several  different  species, 
the  preceding  example  is  resembled  by  that  which  I shall 
next  mention,  which  is  the  hag  of  the  opossum.  [PI.  XXI Y. 
fig.  1 , 2,  3.]  This  is  a mechanical  contrivance,  most  proper- 
ly so  called.  The  simplicity  of  the  expedient  renders  the 
contrivance  more  obvious  than  many  others,  and  by  no 
means  less  certain.  A false  skin  under  the  belly  of  the 
animal  forms  a pouch,  into  which  the  young  litter  are  re- 
ceived at  their  birth;  where  they  have  an  easy  and  constant 
access  to  the  teats;  in  which  they  are  transported  by  the 
dam  from  place  to  place;  where  they  are  at  liberty  to  run 
in  and  out;  and  where  they  find  a refuge  from  surprise  and 
danger.  It  is  their  cradle,  their  conveyance,  and  their 
asylum.  Can  the  use  of  this  structure  be  doubted  of  ? Nor 
is  it  a mere  doubling  of  the  skin;  but  it  is  a new  organ, 
furnished  with  bones  and  muscles  of  its  own.  Two  bones 
are  placed  before  the  os  pubis,  and  joined  to  that  bone  as 
their  base.  These  support,  and  give  a fixture  to,  the  mus- 
cles, which  serve  to  open  the  bag.  To  these  muscles  there 
are  antagonists,  which  serve  in  the  same  manner  to  shut  it; 
and  this  office  they  perform  so  exactly,  that,  in  the  living 
animal,  the  opening  can  scarcely  be  discerned,  except  when 
the  sides  are  forcibly  drawn  asunder.*  Is  there  any  action 
in  this  part  of  the  animal,  any  process  arising  from  that 
action,  by  which  these  members  could  be  formed?  Any 
account  to  be  given  of  the  formation,  except  design?  j 

Goldsmith’s  Nat.  Hist.  vol.  iv.  p.  244. 
t There  is  a very  considerable  number  of  animals  possessed  of  the  same 
structure  which  is  here  described  as  existing  in  the  opossum,  to  which  the 
attention  of  naturalists  has  been  more  particularly  called  since  the  first  pub 
lication  of  this  work.  The  animals  of  this  kind  are  called  marsupial,  from 
the  pouch  or  niarsupiuni  which  distinguishes  them.  This  provision  also 
has  a relation  to  circumstances  in  the  reproduction  of  these  animals  to 
which  Dr.  Paley  has  not  referred.  He  appears  merely  to  regard  it  as  a 
place  of  refuge  and  deposit  for  the  young;  somewhat  in  the  same  way  as 
tha  wings  of  a hfin  are  for  its  brood.  The  fact  is  that  the  young  ot  theso 


42 


PECULIAR  0 -IGANIZATIONS. 


in.  As  a particularity,  yet  appertaining  to  more  species 
than  one,  and  also  as  strictly  mechanical;  we  may  notice 
a circumstance  in  the  structure  of  the  claws  of  certain 
birds.  The  middle  claw  of  the  heron  and  cormorant,  is 
toothed  and  notched  like  a saw.  [PI.  XXV.  fig.  1.] 
These  birds  are  great  fishers,  and  these  notches  assist 
them  in  holding  fieir  slippery  prey.  The  use  is  evident; 
but  the  structure  such  as  cannot  at  all  be  accounted  for 
by  the  effort  of  the  animal,  or  the  exercise  of  the  part. 
Some  other  fishing  birds  have  these  notches  in  their  billsp 
and  for  the  same  purpose.  The  gannet,  or  Soland  goose, 
nas  the  edges  of  its  bill  irregularly  jagged,  that  it  may  hold 
its  prey  the  faster.  [PI.  XXV.  fig.  2.]  Nor  can  the  struc- 
ture in  this,  more  than  in  the  former  case,  arise  from  the 
manner  of  employing  the  part.  The  smooth  surfaces, 
and  soft  flesh  of  fish,  were  less  likely  to  notch  the  bills  of 

animals  are  born  prematurely,  and  in  a very  imperfect  and  unformed  state; 
and  the  pouch  of  the  parent  seems  properly  intended  for  a residence  during 
the  completion  of  the  process  of  developement.  The  kangaroo  is  an  in- 
stance of  this  kind.  When  full  grown  it  is  six  feet  in  extreme  length, 
and  weighs  an  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  W^hen  born  it  is  only  one  inch 
in  length,  and  weighs  but  twenty  grains.  The  fore  legs  are  scarcely  dis- 
tinguishable, and  the  hind  ones,  which  in  the  adult  state  form  half  the 
length  of  the  body,  are  marked  only  by  slight  projections  at  the  parts 
where  they  are  afterwards  to  grow.  In  fact  the  kangaroo  at  birth  is  as 
imperfectly  formed  as  the  young  of  any  other  annnal  would  be  when  but 
a quarter  part  of  the  proper  period  of  its  growth  within  its  parent  had 
elapsed. 

It  is  remarkable  that  it  has  never  yet  been  ascertained  whether  these 
little  embryos  are  conveyed  by  the  parent  animal,  or  whether  they  find 
their  own  way,  into  the  pouch.  Having  scarce  the  exercise  of  any  of  the 
senses,  and  being  without  limbs,  it  seems  almost  impossible  they  should 
make  their  way  there  by  their  own  exertions.  However  this  may  be, 
they  are  found  in  the  pouch  closely  attached,  and  as  it  were  glued  to  the 
nipples,  by  the  mouth  or  rather  by  that  aperture  which  afterwards  be- 
comes a mouth.  Here  they  remain,  never  quitting  their  hold,  until  a 
sufficient  p3riod  has  elapsed  for  their  growth  to  be  completed,  and  they 
have  thus  arrived  in  regard  to  form  and  structure  upon  an  equality  with 
other  animals  at  the  usual  period  of  birth.  W hen  this  is  accomplished, 
they  undergo,  as  it  were,  a second  birth,  and  emerge  from  the  pouch:  but 
return  occasionally  for  the  purpose  of  feeding,  and  for  that  of  protec- 
tion from  danger. 

No  marsupial  animal  was  known  before  the  discovery  of  America,  of 
which  the  opossum  is  a native;  and  this  animal  was  at  first  almost  regar- 
ded as  a sort  of  exception  to  the  laws  of  nature;  since  the  discovery  of 
New  Holland,  however,  and  the  investigation  of  its  natural  history,  it 
has  been  found  that  the  marsupial  animals,  so  far  from  forming  an  excep- 
tion to  :he  general  construction  of  animals  on  that  continent,  constitute 
the  prevailing  model.  With  a very  few  exceptions,  all  the  native  animaia 
•)f  New  HoU\a  : are  of  the  niarsup  iil  tribe. — 


PECULIAR  ORGANIZATIONS. 


143 


birds,  than  the  hard  bodies  upon  *vhich  many  other  species 
feed. 

We  now  come  to  particularities  strictly  so  called,  as  be- 
ing  limited  to  a single  species  of  animal.  Of  these  I shah 
take  one  from  a quadruped  and  one  from  a bird. 

I.  The  sLomach  of  the  camel  is  well  known  to  retain 
large  quantities  of  water,  and  to  retain  it  unchanged  for  a 
considerable  length  of  time.  [PI.  XX VI.]  This  property 
qualities  it  for  living  in  the  desert.  Let  us  see,  therefore, 
what  is  the  internal  organization,  upon  which  a faculty  sc 
rare,  and  so  beneficial,  depends.  A number  of  distinct 
sacks  oT  bags  (in  a dromedary  thirty  of  these  have  been 
counted)  are  observed  to  lie  between  the  membranes  of 
the  second  stomach,  and  to  open  into  the  stomach  near 
the  top  by  small  square  apertures.  Through  these  ori- 
fices, after  the  stomach  is  full,  the  annexed  bags  are  fillec 
from  it;  and  the  water  so  deposited  is,  in  the  first  place,  not 
liable  to  pass  into  the  intestines;  in  the  second  place,  is  kept 
separate  from  the  solid  aliment ; and,  in  the  third  place,  is 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  digestive  action  of  the  stomach,  or 
of  mixture  with  the  gastric  juice.  It  appears  probable,  or 
rather  certain,  that  the  animal,  by  the  conformation  of  its 
muscles,  possesses  the  power  of  squeezing  back  this  water 
from  the  adjacent  bags  into  the  stomach,  whenever  thirst 
excites  it  to  put  this  power  in  action. 

II.  Th^,  tongue  of  the  woodpecker^  is  one  of  those  singu- 
larities, which  nature  presents  us  with  when  a singular, 
purpose  is  to  be  answered.  [PI.  XXVII.  fig.  1 and  2.]  It  is  a 
particular  instrument  for  a particular  use:  and  what  else 
but  design,  ever  produces  such?  The  woodpecker  lives 
chiefly  upon  insects,  lodged  in  the  bodies  of  decayed  or  de- 
caying trees.  For  the  purpose  of  boring  into  the  wood,  it 
is  furnished  with  a bill,  straight,  hard,  angular,  and  sharp. 
When,  by  means  of  this  piercer,  it  has  reached  the  cells  of 
the  insects,  then  comes  the  office  of  its  tongue;  which 
tongue  is,  first,  of  such  a length  that  the  bird  can  dart  it 
out  three  or  four  inches  from  the  bill, — in  this  respect  dif- 
fering greatly  from  every  other  species  of  bird;  in  the  sec- 
ond place,  it  is  tipped  with  a stiff,  sharp,  bony  thorn;  and 
m the  third  place,  (which  appears  to  me  the  most  remark- 
able property  of  all,)  this  tip  is  dentated  on  both  sides,  like 
the  beard  of  an  arrow  or  the  barb  of  a hook.  The  descrip- 
tion of  the  part  declares  its  uses.  The  bird  having  expos- 
ed the  retreats  of  the  insects  by  the  assistance  of  its  bill, 
with  a motion  inconceivably  quick,  launches  out  at  them 
this  long  tongue,  transfixes  them  upon  the  barbed  needle  at 


144 


PECULIAR  ORGANIZATIONS. 


the  end  of  it,  and  thus  draws  its  prey  within  its  mouth 
If  this  be  not  mechanism,  what  is?  Should  it  be  said,  that, 
by  continual  endeavours  to  shoot  out  the  tongue  to  the 
stretch,  the  woodpecker  species  may  by  degrees  have 
lengthened  the  organ  itself  beyond  that  of  other  birds, 
what  account  can  be  given  of  its  form,  of  its*tip?  How,  in 
particular,  did  it  get  its  barb,  its  dentation?  These  barbs, 
in  my  opinion,  wherever  they  occur,  are  decisive  proofs  r. 
mechanical  contrivance. 

III.  I shall  add  one  more  example,  for  the  sake  of  its 
novelty.  It  is  always  an  agreeable  discovery,  when,  having 
remarked  in  an  animal  an  extraordinary  structure,  we  come 
at  length  to  find  out  an  unexpected  use  for  it.  The  follow- 
ing narrative,  which  Goldsmith  has  taken  fromBuflbn,  fur- 
nishes an  instance  of  this  kind.  The  babyrouessa,  or  In- 
dian hog,  a species  of  wild  boar,  found  in  the  East  Indies, 
has  two  bent  teeth,  more  than  half  a yard  long,  growing 
upwards,  and  (which  is  the  singularity)  from  the  upper  jaw. 
[PI.  XXVII.  fig.  4.]  These  instruments  are  not  wanted 
lor  offence;  that  service  being  provided  for  by  two  tusks  is- 
suing from  the  upper  jaw,  and  resembling  those  of  the  com- 
mon boar;  nor  does  the  animal  use  them  for  defence. 
They  might  seem  therefore  to  be  both  a superfluity  and  an 
encumbrance.  But  observe  the  event:  the  animal  hitches 
one  of  these  bent  upper  teeth  upon  the  branch  of  a tree,  and 
vhen  suffers  its  whole  body  to  swing  from  it.  This  is  its 
manner  of  taking  repose,  and  of  consulting  for  its  safety. 
It  continues  the  whole  night  suspended  by  its  tooth,  both 
easy  in  its  posture,  and  secure;  being  out  of  the  reach  of 
animals  which  hunt  it  for  prey.*  I 

* Goldsmith’s  Natural  History,  vol.  iii.  p.  195. 

t There  does  not  seem  to  be  any  sufficient  authority  for  ascribing  thja 
use  to  the  tusks  of  this  animal.  Indeed  one  does  not  readily  see  how  it 
could  in  the  way  described  swing  itself  clear  of  its  enemies,  except  by  first 
climbing  the  tree;  which  is  not  pretended.  The  fact  is  doubted,  it  is  be- 
lieved, by  many  naturalists,  and  the  opinion  probably  was  in  the  first  placo 
founded  upon  mere  conjecture.  A modern  and  distinguished  traveller  has 
these  remarks  upon  the  subject.  “ Philosophers  had  long  puzzled  them- 
selves in  conjectures  what  the  design  of  nature  could  be,  as  she  does  no- 
thing without  design,  in  giving  to  this  animal  a pair  of  large,  curved  tusks, 
pointing  inwards  to  the  face  in  such  a manner  as  made  it  sufficiently  clear 
they  could  not  be  used  either  for  attack  or  defence,  for  procuring  food,  or 
for  assisting  the  mastication  of  it  when  procured.  At  length  it  occurred, 
or  was  discovered,  by  whom  I do  not  recollect,  that  the  animal  is  fond  ol 
sleeping  in  a standing' posture,  and,  that  liaving  a large,  ponderous  head, 
it  finds  a conveniency  in  hanging  it  upon  the  branch  of  a tree  or  shrub 
within  the  reach  of  its  tusks,  which  serve  on  such  occasions  for  hooks. 
This  is  at  least  an  ingenious  discovery,  and  may  be  lru»^  but  if  so  the 


PROSPECTIVE  CONTRIVANCES. 


145 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

PROSPECTIVE  CONTRIVANCES. 

I CAN  hardly  imagine  to  myself  a more  distinguishing 
mark,  and  consequently  a more  certain  proof  of  design,  than 
•preparation^  i.  e.  the  providing  of  things  beforehand  which 
are  not  to  be  used  until  a considerable  time  afterwards:  for 
this  implies  a contemplation  of  the  future,  which  belongs 
only  to  intelligence. 

Of  these  prospective  contrivances,  the  bodies  of  animals 
furnish  various  examples. 

I.  The  human  teeth  afford  an  instance,  not  only  of  pros- 
pective contrivance,  but  of  the  completion  of  the  contrivance 
being  designedly  suspended.  [PI.  XXVIII.  fig.  1 and  2.] 
They  are  formed  within  the  gums,  and  there  they  stop;  the 
fact  being,  that  their  farther  advance  to  maturity  would  not 
only  be  useless  to  the  new-born  animal,  but  extremely  in  its 
way ; as  it  is  evident  that  the  act  sucking,  by  which  it  is  for 
sometime  to  be  nourished,  will  be  performed  with  more  ease 
both  to  the  nurse  and  to  the  infant,  whilst  the  inside  of  the 
mouth,  and  edges  of  the  gums,  are  smooth  and  soft,  than  if 
set  with  hard  pointed  bones.  By  the  time  they  are  wanted, 
the  teeth  are  ready.  They  have  been  lodged  within  the 
gums  for  some  months  past,  but  detained  as  it  were  in 
their  sockets,  so  long  as  their  farther  protrusion  would  in- 
terfere with  the  office  to  which  the  mouth  is  destined.  Na- 
ture, namely,  that  intelligence  which  was  employed  in  cre- 
ation, looked  beyond  the  first  year  of  the  infant’s  life ; yet, 
whilst  she  was  providing  for  functions  which  were  after 
that  term  to  become  necessary,  was  careful  not  to  incom- 
mode those  which  preceded  them.  What  renders  it  more 
probable  that  this  is  the  effect  of  design,  is,  that  the  teeth 
are  imperfect,  whilst  all  other  parts  of  the  mouth  are 
perfect.  The  lips  are  perfect,  the  tongue  is  perfect;  the 

habits  of  the  animal  must  vary  according  to  local  circumstances.  The 
same  species,  or  one  so  like  it  that  the  difference  is  not  distinguisnablo 
by  any  description  or  drawing  that  I have  seen,  is  common  among  the 
rocks  on  the  deserts  of  Southern  Africa,  where,  within  the  distance  cf  a 
hundred  miles,  there  is  neither  tree  nor  shi*ub,  except  a few  stunted  heaths 
or  shrivelled  everlastings,  thinly  scattered  over  the  barren  surface.  In 
such  situations,  where  I have  hunted  and  taken  them,  it  would  certain- 
ly be  no  easy  matter  for  the  babyrouessa  to  find  a peg  to  ?4ang  its  head 
npon.” — Bar?'ow^s  Voyage  to  Cochin-China, — Ed 


146 


PROSPECTIVE  CONTRIVANCES, 


jaws,  the  palate,  the  pharynx,  the  larynx,  are  all  perfect 
the  teeth  alone  are  not  so.  This  is  the  fact  with  respect 
to  the  human  mouth:  the  fact  also  is,  that  the  parts  above 
enumerated  are  called  into  use  from  the  beginn  ng ; whereas 
the  teeth  would  be  only  so  many  obstacles  and  annoyances, 
if  they  were  there.  When  a contrary  order  is  necessary, 
a contrary  order  prevails.  In  the  worm  of  the  beetle,  as 
hatched  from  the  egg,  the  teeth  are  the  first  things  which 
arrive  at  perfection.  The  insect  begins  to  gnaw  as  soon 
as  it  escapes  from  the  shell,  though  its  other  parts  be  only 
gradually  advancing  to  their  maturity. 

What  has  been'observed  of  the  teeth,  is  true  of  the  horns 
of  animals,  and  for  the  same  reason.  The  horn  of  a calf 
or  a lamb  does  not  bud,  or  at  least  does  not  sprout  to  any 
considerable  length,  until  the  animal  be  capable  of  brows- 
ing upon  its  pasture;  because  such  a substance  upon  the 
forehead  of  the  young  animal,  would  very  much  incommode 
the  teat  of  the  dam  in  the  office  of  giving  suck. 

But  in  the  case  of  the  teeth,  of  the  human  teeth  at  least, 
the  prospective  contrivance  looks  still  farther.  A succession 
of  crops  is  provided,  and  provided  from  the  beginning;  a 
second  tier  being  originally  formed  beneath  the  first,  which 
do  not  come  into  use  till  several  years  afterwards.  And 
this  double  or  suppletory  provision  meets  a difficulty  in 
the  mechanism  of  the  mouth,  which  would  have  appeared 
almost  insurmountable.  The  expansion  of  the  jaw  (the 
consequence  of  the  proportionable  growth  of  the  animal, 
and  of  its  skull,)  necessarily  separates  the  teeth  of  the  first 
set,  however  compactly  disposed,  to  a distance  from  one 
another,  which  would  be  very  inconvenient.  In  due,  time, 
therefore,  i,  e.  when  the  jaw  has  attained  a great  part  of 
its  dimensions,  a new  set  of  teeth  springs  up  (loosening 
and  pushing  out  the  old  ones  before  them,)  more  exactly 
fitted  to  the  space  which  they  are  to  occupy,  and  rising  also 
in  such  close  ranks,  as  to  allow  for  any  extension  of 
line  which  the  subsequent  enlargement  of  the  head  may 
occasion. 

II  It  is  not  very  easy  to  conceive  a more  evidently 
prospective  contrivance  than  that  which,  in  all  viviparous 
animals,  is  found  in  the  milk  of  the  female  parent.  At  the 
moment  the  young  animal  enters  the  world,  there  is  its 
maintenance  ready  for  it.  The  particulars  to  be  remarked 
in  this  economy  are  neither  few  nor  slight.  We  have,  first, 
the  nutritious  quality  of  the  fluid,  unlike,  in  this  respect 
every  other  excretion  of  the  body;  and  in  which  nature 
riitherto  remains  unimitated,  neither  cookery  nor  chemistry 


PROSPECTIVE  CONTRIVANCES. 


147 


having  been  able  to  make  milk  out  of  grass,  we  have, 
secondly,  the  organ  for  its  reception  and  retention ; we  have, 
thirdly,  the  excretory  duct,  annexed  to  it;  and  we  have, 
lastly,  the  determination  of  the  milk  to  the  breast,  at  the 
particular  juncture  when  it  is  about  to  be  wanted.  We 
have  all  these  properties  in  the  subject  before  us;  and 
they  are  all  indications  of  design.  The  last  circumstance 
is  the  strongest  of  any.  If  I had  been  to  guess  beforehand, 
I should  have  conjectured,  that  at  the  time  when  there 
was  an  extraordinary  demand  for  nourishment  in  one  part 
of  the  system,  there  would  be  the  least  likelihood  of  a re- 
dundancy to  supply  another  part.  The  advanced  preg- 
nancy of  the  female  has  no  intelligible  tendency  to  fill  the 
breast  with  milk.  The  lacteal  system  is  a constant  won- 
der; and  it  adds  to  other  causes  of  our  admiration,  that 
the  number  of  the  teats  and  paps  in  each  species  is  found 
to  bear  a proportion  to  the  number  of  the  young.  In  the 
sow,  the  bitch,  the  rabbit,  the  cat,  the  ^at,  which  have 
numerous  litters,  the  paps  are  numerous,  a id  are  disposed 
along  the  whole  length  of  the  belly:  in  the  cow  and  mare 
they  are  few.  The  most  simple  account  of  this,  is  to  re- 
fer it  to  a designing  Creator. 

But,  in  the  argument  before  us,  we  are  entitled  to  con- 
sider not  only  animal  bodies  when  framed,  but  the  circum- 
stances under  which  they  are  framed:  and  in  this  view 
of  the  subject,  the  constitution  of  many  of  their  parts  is 
most  strictly  prospective. 

III.  The  eye  is  of  no  use  at  the  time  when  it  is  formed. 
It  is  an  optical  instrument  made  in  a dungeon;  construct- 
ed for  the  refraction  of  light  to  a focus,  and  perfect  for  its 
purpose,  before  a ray  of  light  has  had  access  to  it;  geo 
metrically  adapted  to  the  properties  and  action  of  an  ele- 
ment with  which  it  has  no  communication.  It  is  about 
indeed  to  enter  into  that  communication;  and  this  is  pre- 
cisely the  thing  which  evidences  intention.  It  is  pr'ovid- 
ing  for  the  future  in  the  closest  sense  which  can  be  given 
to  these  terms;  for  it  is  providing  for  a future  change,  not 
for  the  then  subsisting  condition  of  the  animal,  not  for 
any  gradual  progress  or  advance  in  that  same  condition, 
but  for  a new  state,  the  consequence  of  a great  and  sudden 
alteration,  which  the  animal  is  to  undergo  at  its  birth.  Is 
it  to  be  believed  that  the  eye  was  formed,  or,  which  is  the 
same  thing,  that  the  series  of  causes  was  fixed  by  which 
the  eye  is  formed,  without  a view  to  this  change;  without 
a prospect  of  that  condition,  in  which  its  fabric,  of  no  use 
at  present,  is  about  to  be  of  the  greatest;  without  a con- 


148 


PROSPECTIVE  CONTRIVANCES. 


sideration  of  the  qualities  of  that  element,  hitherto  ent.re- 
\y  excluded,  but  with  which  it  was  hereafter  to  hold  so  in- 
timate a relation?  A young  man  makes  a pair  of  specta- 
cles for  himself  against  he  grows  old;  for  which  spectacles 
he  has  no  want  or  use  whatever  at  the  time  he  makes  them. 
Could  this  be  done  without  knowing  and  considering 
the  defect  of  vision  to  which  advanced  age  is  subject? 
Would  not  the  precise  suitableness  of  the  instrument  to  its 
purpose,  of  the  remedy  to  the  defect,  of  the  convex  lens 
to  the  flattened  eye,  establish  the  certainty  of  the  conclu- 
sion, that  the  case,  afterwards  to  arise,  had  been  consider- 
ed beforehand,  speculated  upon,  provided  for?  all  which 
are  exclusively  the  acts  of  a reasoning  mind.  The  eye 
formed  in  one  state,  for  use  only  in  another  state,  and  in  a 
different  state,  affords  a proof  no  less  clear  of  destination  to 
a future  purpose,  and  a proof  proportionably  stionger,  as 
the  machinery  is  more  complicated,  and  the  adaptation  more 
exact. 

IV.  What  has  been  said  of  the  eye,  holds  equally  true 
of  the  lungs.  Composed  of  air-vessels,  where  there  is  no 
air;  elaborately  constructed  for  the  alternate  admission  and 
expulsion  of  an  elastic  fluid,  where  no  such  fluid  exists; 
this  great  organ,  with  the  whole  apparatus  belonging  to  it, 
lies  collapsed  in  the  foetal  thorax,  yet  in  order,  and  in  read- 
iness for  action,  the  first  moment  that  the  occasion  requires 
its  service.  This  is  having  a machine  locked  up  in  store 
for  a future  use;  which  incontestably  proves,  that  the  case 
was  expected  to  occur,  in  which  this  use  might  be  experi- 
enced: but  expectation  is  the  proper  act  of  intelligence. 
Considering  the  state  in  which  an  animal  exists  before  its 
birth,  I should  look  for  nothing  less  in  its  body  than  a sys- 
tem of  lungs.  It  is  like  finding  a pair  of  bellows  in  the 
bottom  of  the  sea;  of  no  sort  of  use  in  the  situation  in 
which  they  are  found;  formed  for  an  action  which  was  im- 
possible to  be  exerted;  holding  no  relation  or  fitness  tothe 
element  which  surrounds  them,  but  both  to  another  e e- 
meiit  in  another  place. 

As  part  and  parcel  of  the  same  plan,  ought  to  be  men- 
tioned, in  speaking  of  the  lungs,  the  provisionary  contri- 
vances of  the  foramen  ovale  and  dncfiis  arteriosus.  [PI. 
XXIX.]  In  the  foetus,  pipes  are  laid  for  the  passage  of  the 
blood  through  the  lungs;  but,  until  the  lungs  be  inflated 
by  tlie  ins[)f  ration  of  air,  that  passage  is  imj)ervious,  or  in  a 
great  degree  obstructed.  A\  liat  then  is  to  be  done?  What 
would  an  artist,  what  would  a master  do  upon  the  occasion? 
He  would  endeavour,  most  probably,  to  provide  a iemporanf 


RELATIONS. 


149 


passage,  which  might  carry  on  the  communication  requir- 
ed, until  the  other  was  open.  Now  this  is  the  thing  which 
is  actually  done  in  the  heart:  instead  of  the  circuitous  route 
through  the  lungs,  which  the  blood  afterwards  takes  before 
it  gets  from  one  auricle  of  the  heprt  to  the  other,  a portion 
of  the  blood  passes  immediately  from  the  right  auricle  to 
the  left,  through  a hole  placed  in  the  partition  which  sepa- 
rates these  cavities.  This  hole  anatomists  call  the  fora- 
men ovale.  There  is  likewise  another  cro^s  cut,  answering 
the  same  purpose,  by  what  is  called  the  ductus  arteriosus, 
lying  between  the  pulmonary  artery  and  the  aorta.  But 
both  expedients  are  so  strictly  temporary,  that  after  birth 
the  one  passage  is  closed,  and  the  tube  which  forms  the 
other  shrivelled  up  into  a ligament.  If  this  be  not  contri- 
vance, what  is.^ 

But,  forasmuch  as  the  action  of  the  air  upon  the  blood 
in  the  lungs  appears  to  be  necessary  to  the  perfect  concoc- 
th)n  of  that  fluid,  i,  e.  to  the  life  and  health  of  the  animal, 
(otherwise  the  shortest  rout  might  still  be  the  best,)  how 
comes  it  to  pass  that  the  fxtus  lives,  and  grows,  and  thrives, 
without  it.^  The  answer  is,  that  the  blood  of  the  foetus 
is  the  mother’s;  that  it  has  undergone  that  action  in  her 
,iabit ; that  one  pair  of  lungs  serves  for  both.  When  the 
animals  are  separated,  a new  necessity  arises;  and  to  meet 
this  necessity  as  soon  as  it  occurs,  an  organization  is  pre- 
pared. It  is  ready  for  its  purpose;  it  only  waits  for  the 
atmosphere;  it  begins  to  play  the  moment  the  air  is  admit- 
ted to  it. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

RELATIONS. 

When  several  different  parts  contribute  to  one  effect; 
or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  when  an  effect  is  produced 
by  the  joint  action  of  different  instruments;  the  fitness  of 
such  parts  or  instruments  to  one  another,  for  the  purpose  of 
producing,  by  their  united  action,  the  effect,  is  what  I call 
relation;  and  wherever  this  is  observed  in  the  works  of 
nature  or  of  man,  it  appears  to  me  to  carry  along  with  it 
decisive  evidence  of  understanding,  intention,  art.  In 
examining,  for  instance,  the  several  parts  of  r watch,  the 
spring,  the  barrel,  the  chain,  the  fusee,  the  balance,  the 
wheels  of  various  sizes,  forms,  and  positions,  what  is  il 


150 


RELATIONS. 


which  would  take  an  observer’s  attention,  as  most  plainl]^ 
evincing  a construction,  directed  by  thought,  deliberation, 
and  contrivance?  It  is  the  suitableness  of  these  parts  to 
one  another;  first,  in  the  succession  and  order  in  which 
they  act;  and,  secondly,  with  a view  to  the  efxect  finally 
produced.  Thus,  referring  the  spring  to  the  Avheels,  he 
sees  in  it  that  which  originates  and  upholds  ihew  mo- 
tion; in  the  chain,  that  which  transmits  the  motion  to  the 
fusee;  in  the  fusee,  that  which  communicates  it  lo  the 
wheels:  in  the  conical  figure  of  the  fusee,  if  he  refei  back 
again  to  the  spring,  he  sees  that  which  corrects  the  ine- 
quality of  its  force.  Referring  the  wheels  to  one  another, 
he  notices,  first,  their  teeth,  which  would  have  been  without 
use  or  meaning,  if  there  had  been  only  one  wheel,  or  if  the 
wheels  had  had  no  connexion  between  themselves,  or  com- 
mon bearing  upon- some  joint  effect;  secondly,  the  corres- 
pondency of  their  position,  so  that  the  teeth  of  one  wheel 
catch  into  the  teeth  of  another ; thirdly,  the  proportion  ob- 
served in  the  number  of  teeth  of  each  wheel,  which  de- 
termines the  rate  of  going.  Referring  the  balance  to  the 
rest  of  the  works,  he  saw,  when  he  came  to  understand  its 
action,  that  which  rendered  their  motions  equable.  Lastly, 
in  looking  upon  the  index  and  face  of  the  watch,  he  saw 
the  use  and  conclusion  of  the  mechanism,  viz.  marking  the 
succession  of  minutes  and  hours;  but  all  depending  upon 
the  motions  within,  all  upon  the  system  of  intermediate 
actions  between  the  spring  and  the  pointer.  What  thus 
struck  his  attention  in  the  several  parts  of  the  watch,  he 
might  probably  designate  by  one  general  name  of  “rela- 
tion; ” and  observing  with  respect  to  all  cases  whatever, 
in  which  the  origin  and  formation  of  a thing  could  be  as- 
certained by  evidence,  that  these  relations  were  found  in 
things  produced  by  art  and  design,  and  in  no  other  thfngs, 
he  w^ould  rightly  deem  of  them  as  characteristic  of  such 
productions. — To  apply  the  reasoning  here  described  to  the 
w’orks  of  nature. 

The  animal  economy  is  full;  is  made  up  of  these  rela 
lions: — 

I.  There  are,  first,  what  in  one  form  or  other  belong  to  all 
animals,  the  parts  and  powers  which  successively  act  upon 
their  food.  Compare  this  action  with  the  process  of  a 
manufactory.  Jn  men  and  quadrupeds,  the  aliment  is 
first  broken  and  bruised  by  mechanical  instruments  of 
mastication,  viz.  sharp  spikes  or  hard  knobs,  pressing 
against  or  rubbing  upon  one  another:  thus  ground  and 
commin'jte  1,  it  is  carried  by  a pipe  into  the  stomach,  where 


RELATIONS. 


151 


it  waits  to  undergo  a great  chemical  action,  which  wc  call 
digestion:  when  digested,  it  is  delivered  through  an  orifice, 
which  opens  and  shuts  as  there  is  occasion,  into  the  first 
intestine;  there,  after  being  mixed  with  certain  proper  in- 
gredients, poured  through  a hole  in  the  side  of  the  vessel, 
it  is  farther  dissolved;  in  this  state,  the  milk,  chyle,  or 
part  which  is  wanted,  and  which  is  suited  for  animal  nour- 
ishment, is  strained  off  by  the  mouths  of  very  small  tubr's, 
opening  into  the  cavity  of  the  intestines:  thus  freed  from 
its  grosser  parts,  the  percolated  fluid  is  carried  by  a long, 
winding,  but  traceable  course,  into  the  main  stream  of  the 
old  circulation;  which  conveys  it,  in  its  progress,  tr>  every 
part  of  the  body.  Now,  I say  again,  compare  this  with  the 
process  of  a manufactory ; with  the  making  of  cider,  for  ex- 
ample; with  the  bruising  of  the  apples  in  the  mill,  the  squeez- 
ing of  them  when  so  bruised  in  the  press,  the  fermentation 
m the  vat,  the  bestowing  of  the  liquor  thus  fermented  in  the 
hogsheads,  the  drawing  off  into  bottles,  the  pouring  out  for 
use  into  the  glass.  Let  any  one  show  me  any  difference 
between  these  two  cases,  as  to  the  point  of  contrivance. 
That  which  is  at  present  under  our  consideration,  the  “ re- 
lation” of  the  parts  successively  employed,  is  not  more 
clear  in  the  last  case,  than  in  the  first.  The  aptness  of  the 
jaws  and  teeth  to  prepare  the  food  for  the  stomach,  is,  at 
least,  as  manifest,  as  that  of  the  cider-mill  to  crush  the 
apples  for  the  press.  The  concoction  of  the  food  in  the 
stomach  is  as  necessary  for  its  future  use,  as  the  fermenta- 
tion of  the  stum  in  the  vat  is  to  the  perfection  of  the  liquor. 
The  disposal  of  the  aliment  afterwards;  the  action  and 
change  which  it  undergoes,  the  route  which  it  is  made  to 
take,  in  order  that,  and  until  that,  it  arrive  at  its  destina- 
tion, is  more  complex  indeed  and  intricate,  but,  in  the 
midst  of  complication  and  intricacy,  as  evident  and  certain, 
as  is  the  apparatus  of  cocks,  pipes,  tunnels,  for  transferring 
the  cider  from  one  vessel  to  another;  of  barrels  and  bottles 
for  preserving  it  till  fit  for  use,  or  of  cups  and  glasses  foi 
bringing  it,  when  wanted,  to  the  lip  of  the  consumer.  Thf 
character  of  the  machinery  is  in  both  cases  this,  that  om 
part  answers  to  another  part,  and  every  part  to  the  fina 
result. 

This  parallel,  between  the  alimentary  operation  and  some 
of  the  processes  of  art,  might  be  carried  farther  into  detail. 
Spallanzani  has  remarked*  a circumstantial  resemblance 
Dctween  ^he  stomachs  of  gallinaceous  fowls  and  the  struc- 


* Diss.  I.  Sect  liv. 


152 


RELATIONS. 


t^ire  of  corn-mills.  Whilst  the  two  sides  of  the  gizzard  per 
form  the  office  of  the  mill-stones,  the  craw  or  crop  supplies 
the  place  of  the  hopper.  AVhen  our  fowls  are  abundantly 
supplied  with  meat  they  soon  fill  their  craw:  but  it  does 
not  immediately  pass  thence  into  the  gizzard;  it  always 
enters  in  very  small  quantities,  in  proportion  to  the  progress 
of  trituration; — in  like  manner  as,  in  a mill,  a receiver  is 
fixed  above  the  two  large  stones  which  serve  for  grinding 
the  corn;  which  receiver,  although  the  corn  be  put  into  it 
by  bushels,  allows  the  grain  to  dribble  only  in  small  quan- 
tities, into  the  central  hole  in  the  upper  mill-stone. 

But  we  have  not  done  with  the  alimentary  history.  There 
subsists  a general  relation  between  the  external  organs  of 
an  animal  by  which  it  procures  its  food,  and  the  internal 
powers  by  which  it  digests  it.=^  Birds  of  prey,  by  their 
talons  and  beaks,  are  qualified  to  seize  and  devour  many 
species,  both  of  other  birds  and  of  quadrupeds.  The  con- 
stitution of  the  stomach  agrees  exactly  with  the  form  of  the 
members.  The  gastric  juice  of  a bird  of  prey,  of  an  owl, 

* This  subject  of  the  relation  of  parts,  and  the  correspondence  of  one 
part  of  the  animal  structure  to  all  the  others  which  is  here  briefly  spoken 
of  by  our  author,  has  since  been  made,  in  the  hands  of  some  distinguished 
anatomists,  of  immense  importance  in  a scientific  point  of  view.  The 
following  extract  from  Afr.  BelVs  Treatise  on  Animal  Aiechanics^ 
shows  how  extensively  it  is  capable  of  being  considered,  and  what  inter- 
esting results  may  be  drawn  from  it. — Kd, 

“ VVhat  we  have  to  state  has  been  the  result  of  the  studies  of  many 
naturalists;  but  although  they  have  labored,  as  it  were,  in  their  own  de- 
partment of  comparative  anatomy,  they  have  failed  to  seize  upon  it  with 
the  privilege  of  genius,  and  to  handle  it  in  the  masterly  manner  of  Cuvier. 

Suppose  a man  ignorant  of  anatomy  to  pick  up  a bone  in  an  unex- 
plored country,  he  learns  nothing,  except  that  some  animal  has  lived  and 
died  there;  but  the  anatomist  can,  by  that  single  bone,  estimate,  not  mere- 
ly the  size  of  the  animal,  as  well  as  if  he  saw  the  print  of  its  foot,  but 
the  form  and  joints  of  the  skeleton,  the  stracture  of  its  jaws,  and  teeth, 
the  nature  of  its  food,  and  its  internal  economy.  This,  to  one  ignorant  of 
the  subject,  must  appear  wonderful,  but  it  is  after  this  manner  that  the 
anatomist  proceeds;  let  us  suppose  that  he  has  taken  up  that  portion  of 
bone  in  the  limb  of  the  quadruped  which  corresponds  to  the  human  wrist; 
and  that  he  finds  that  the  form  of  the  bone  does  not  admit  of  free  motion 
in  various  directions,  like  the  paw  of  the  carnivorous  creature.  It  is  ob- 
vious, by  the  structure  of  the  part,  that  the  limb  must  have  been  merely 
for  supporting  the  animal,  and  for  progression,  and  not  for  seizing  prey. 
’I'his  leads  him  to  the  fact  that  there  were  no  bones  resembling  those  of 
the  hand  and  fingers,  or  those  of  the  claws  of  the  tiger;  for  the  motions 
whirh  that  conformation  of  hones  permits  in  the  paw,  would  be  useless, 
without  the  rotation  of  tlie  wrist — he  concludes  that  these  bones  were 
formed  in  one  mass,  like  the  cannon-bone,  pastern-bone,  and  coffin-bones 
of  the  horse’s  foot. 

*■  The  uiotiou  limited  to  flection  and  extension  of  the  foot  cf  a hoofed 


RELATIONS. 


153 


a falcon,  or  a kite,  acts  upon  the  animal  fibre  alone;  it  wilj 
not  act  upon  seeds  or  grasses  at  all.  On  the  other  hand 
the  conformation  of  the  mouth  of  the  sheep  or  of  the  ox  is 
suited  for  browsing  upon  herbage.  Nothing  about  these 
animals  is  fitted  for  the  pursuit  of  living  prey.  Accord- 
ingly it  has  been  found  by  experiments,  tried  not  many 
years  ago,  with  perforated  balls,  that  the  gastric  juice  of 
ruminating  animals,  such  as  the  sheep  and  the  ox,  speedily 
dissolves  vegetables,  but  makes  no  impression  upon  animal 
bodies.  This  accordancy  is  still  more  particular.  The 
gastric  juice,  even  of  granivorous  birds,  will  not  act  upon 
he  grain  whilst  whole  and  entire.  In  performing  the  ex- 
animal implies  the  absence  of  a collar-bone  and  a restrained  motion  in 
the  shoulder-joint;  and  thus  the  naturalist,  from  the  specimen  in  his  hand, 
has  got  a perfect  notion  of  all  the  bones  of  the  anterior  extremity! 
The  motions  of  the  extremities  imply  a condition  of  the  spine  which 
unites  them.  Each  bone  of  the  spine  will  have  that  form  which  per- 
mits the  bounding  of  the  stag,  or  the  galloping  of  the  horse,  but  it  will 
not  have  that  form  of  joining  which  admits  the  turning  or  writhing  of 
the  spine,  as  in  the  leopard  or  the  tiger. 

“ And  now  he  comes  to  the  head: — the  teeth  of  a carnivorous  animal, 
he  says,  would  be  useless  to  rend  prey,  unless  there  were  claws  to  hold 
it,  and  a mobility  of  the  extremities  like  the  hand,  to  grasp  it.  lie  con- 
siders, therefore,  that  the  teeth  must  have  been  for  bruising  herbs,  md 
the  back  teeth  for  grinding.  The  socketing  of  these  teeth  in  the  jaw  gives 
a peculiar  form  to  these  bones,  and  the  muscles  which  move  them  are 
also  peculiar;  in  short,  he  forms  a conception  of  the  shape  of  the  skull. 
From  this  point  he  may  set  out  anew,  for  by  the  form  of  the  teeth,  he 
ascertains  the  nature  of  the  stomach,  the  length  of  the  intestines,  and  all 
the  peculiarities  which  mark  a vegetable  feeder. 

“ Thus  the  whole  parts  of  the  animal  system  are  so  connected  with 
one  another,  that  from  one  single  bone  or  fragment  of  bone,  be  it  of  the 
jaw,  or  of  the  spine,  or  of  the  extremity,  a really  accurate  conception  of 
the  shape,  motions,  and  habits  of  the  animal,  may  be  formed. 

“ It  will  readily  be  understood  that  the  same  process  of  reasoning  will 
ascertain,  from  a small  portion  of  a skeleton,  the  existence  of  a carnivo- 
rous animal,  or  of  a fowl,  or  of  a bat,  or  of  a lizard,  or  of  a fish  ; and 
what  a conviction  is  here  brought  home  to  us,  of  the  extent  of  that  plan 
which  adapts  the  members  of  every  creature  to  its  proper  office,  and  yet 
exliibits  a system  extending  through  the  whole  range  of  animated  beings, 
W’hose  motions  are  conducted  by  the  operation  of  muscles  and  bones! 

“ After  all,  this  is  but  a part  of  the  wonders  disclosed  through  the 
knowledge  of  a thing  so  despised  as  a fragment  of  bone.  It  carries  ua 
into  another  science  ; since  the  knowledge  of  the  skeleton  not  only 
teaches  us  the  classification  of  creatures,  now  alive,  but  affords  proofs  of 
thr  former  existence  of  animated  beings  which  are  not  now  to  be  found  on 
the  surface  of  the  earth.  We  are  thus  led  to  an  unexpected  conclusion 
from  such  premises;  not  merely  the  existence  cf  an  individual  animal, 
or  race  of  animals;  but  even  the  changes  which  the  globe  itself  has  un- 
iergone  in  times  before  all  existing  records,  and  before  the  creation  of 
'.i...ian  beings  to  inhabit  the  earth,  are  opened  to  our  contemplation.” 


154 


RELATIONS. 


perin  3nt  of  digestion  with  the  gastric  juice  in  vessels,  the 
grain  must  be  crushed  and  bruised  before  it  be  submitted 
to  the  menstruum;  that  is  to  say,  must  undergo  by  art  with- 
out the  body,  the  preparatory  action  which  the  gizzard  ex- 
erts upon  it  within  the  body;  or  no  digestion  will  take  place. 
So  strict,  in  this  case,  is  the  relation  betweeen  the  offices 
assigned  to  the  digestive  organ,  between  the  mechanical 
operation,  and  the  chemical  process. 

II.  The  relation  of  the  kidneys  to  the  bladder,  and  oi 
the  ureters  to  both,  i.  e,  of  the  secreting  organ  to  the  ves- 
sel receiving  the  secreted  liquor,  and  the  pipe  laid  from  one 
to  the  other,  for  the  purpose  of  conveying  it  from  one  to 
the  other,  is  as  manifest  as  it  is  amongst  the  different  ves- 
sels employed  in  a distillery,  or  in  the  communications  be- 
tween them.  The  animal  structure  in  this  case  being  sim- 
ple, and  the  parts  easily  separated,  it  forms  an  instance  of 
correlation  which  may  be  presented  by  dissection  to  every 
eye,  or  which  indeed,  without  dissection,  is  capable  of  be- 
ing apprehended  by  every  understanding.  This  correla 
tion  of  instruments  to  one  another  fixes  intention  some- 
where: especially  when  every  other  solution  is  negatived 
by  the  conformation.  If  the  bladder  had  been  merely  an 
expansion  of  the  ureter,  produced  by  retention  of  the  fluid, 
Jiere  ought  to  have  been  a bladder  for  each  ureter.  One 
receptacle,  fed  by  two  pipes,  issuing  from  different  sides  of 
the  body,  yet  from  both  conveying  the  same  fluid,  is  not 
to  Be  accounted  for  by  any  such  supposition  as  this. 

III.  Relation  of  parts  to  one  another  accompanies  us 
throughout  the  whole  animal  economy.  Can  any  relation 
be  more  simple,  yet  more  convincing,  than  this,  that  the 
eyes  are  so  placed  as  to  look  in  the  direction  in  which  the 
legs  move  and  the  hands  work  ? It  might  have  happened 
very  differently  if  it  had  been  left  to  chance.  There  were 
at  least  three-quarters  of  the  compass  out  of  four  to  have 
erred  in.  Any  considerable  alteration  in  the  position  of 
the  eye,  or  the  figure  of  the  joints,  would  have  disturbed 
the  line,  and  destroyed  the  alliance  between  the  sense  and 
the  limbs. 

IV.  But  relation  perhaps  is  never  so  striking,  as  when 
it  subsists,  not  between  different  parts  of  the  same  thing, 
bit  between  different  things.  The  relation  between  a 
loch:  and  a key  is  more  obvious  tlian  it  is  between  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  lock.  A bow  was  designed  for  an  arrow, 
and  an  arrow  for  a bow:  and  the  design  is  more  evident 
for  their  iieing  separate  implements. 

Ncr  do  the  works  of  the  Deity  want  this  clearest  spe- 


RELATIONS. 


156 


cies  of  relation.  The  sexes  are  manifestly  nade  for  each 
other  They  form  the  grand  relation  of  animated  nature; 
universal,  organic,  mechanical:  subsisting  like  the  clear- 
est relations  of  art,  in  different  individuals;  unequivocal, 
inexplicable  without  design. 

So  much  so,  that  were  every  other  proof  of  contrivance 
in  nature  dubious  or  obscure,  this  alone  would  be  suffi- 
cient. The  example  is  complete.  Nothing  is  wanting  to 
the  argument,  I see  no  way  whatever  of  getting  over  it. 

V'.  The  teats  of  animals,  which  give  suck,  bear  a re- 
lation to  the  mouth  of  the  suckling  progeny;  particularly 
to  the  lips  and  tongue.  Here  also,  as  before,  is  a corres- 
pondency of  parts;  which  parts  subsist  in  different  indi- 
viduals. 

These  are  general  relations,  or  the  relations  of  parts 
which  are  found,  either  in  all  animals,  or  in  large  classes 
and  descriptions  of  animals.  Particular  relations,  or  the 
relations  which  subsist  between  the  particular  configura- 
tion of  one  or  more  parts  of  certain  species  of  animals, 
and  the  particular  configuration  of  one  or  more  other  parts 
of  the  same  animal,  (which  is  the  sort  of  relation  that  is 
perhaps  most  striking,)  are  such  as  the  following: 

I.  In  the  swan;  the  web  foot,  the  spoon  bill,  the  long 
neck,  the  thick  down,  the  graminivorous  stomach,  bear  all 
a relation  to  one  another,  inasmuch  as  they  all  concur  in 
one  design,  that  of  supplying  the  occasions  of  an  aquatic 
fowl,  floating  upon  the  surface  of  shallow  pools  of  water, 
and  seeking  its  food  at  the  bottom.  Begin  with  any  one 
of  these  particularities  of  structure,  and  observe  how  the 
rest  follow  it.  The  web  foot  qualifies  the  bird  for  swimming ; 
the  spoon  bill  enables  it  to  graze.  But  how  is  an  animal, 
floating  upon  the  surface  of  pools  of  water,  to  graze  at  the 
bottom,  except  by  the  mediation  of  a long  neck.^  A long 
neck  accordingly  is  given  to  it.  Again,  a warm-blooded 
animal,  which  was  to  pass  its  life  upon  water,  required  a 
defence  against  the  coldness  of  that  element.  Such  a de- 
fence is  furnished  to  the  swan,  in  the  muff  in  which  its  body 
•s  wrapped.  But  all  this  outward  apparatus  would  have 
been  in  vain,  if  the  intestinal  system  had  not  been  suited 
to  the  digestion  of  vegetable  substances.  I say,  suited  to 
the  digestion  of  vegetable  substances:  for  it  is  well  known, 
that  there  are  two  intestinal  systems  found  in  birds,  one 
with  a membranous  stomach  and  a gastric  juice,  capable 
of  dissolving  animal  substances  alone;  the  other  with  a 
crop  and  gizzard,  calculated  for  the  moistening,  bruising 
and  afterwards  digesting,  of  vegetable  aliment. 


156 


RELATIONS. 


Or  R3t  off  with  any  other  distinctive  part  in  the  body 
of  the  swan;  for  instance,  with  the  long  neck.  The  long 
neck,  without  the  web  foot,  would  have  been  an  encum- 
brance to  the  bird;  yet  there  is  no  necessary  connexion 
between  a long  neck  and  a web  foot.  In  fact  they  do  not 
usually  go  together.  How  happens  it,  therefore,  that  they 
meet  only  when  a particular  design  demands  the  aid  of 
both  ? 

II.  This  mutual  relation,  arising  from  a subserviency 
to  a common  purpose,  is  very  observable  also  in  the  parts 
of  a mole.  The  strong  short  legs  of  that  animal,  the  pal- 
inated  feet  armed  with  sharp  nails,  the  pig-like  nose,  the 
teeth,  the  velvet  coat,  the  small  external  ear,  the  sagacious 
smell,  the  sunk  protected  eye,  all  conduce  to  the  utilities 
or  to  the  safety  of  its  under-ground  life.  It  is  a special 
purpose,  specially  consulted  throughout.  The  form  of  the 
feet  fixes  the  character  of  the  animal.  They  are  so  many 
shovels;  they  determine  its  action  to  that  of  rooting  in  the 
ground;  and  everything  about  its  body  agrees  with  this 
destination.  The  cylindrical  figure  of  the  mole,  as  well  as 
the  compactness  of  its  form,  arising  from  the  terseness  of 
its  limbs,  proportionably  lessens  its  labor;  because,  accord- 
ing to  its  bulk,  it  thereby  requires  the  least  possible  quanti- 
ty of  earth  to  be  removed  for  its  progress.  It  has  nearly 
the  same  structure  of  the  face  and  jaws  as  a swine,  and 
the  same  office  for  them.  The  nose  is  sharp,  slender, 
tendinous,  strong;  with  a pair  of  nerves  going  down  to 
the  end  of  it.  The  plush  covering,  which,  by  the  smooth- 
ness, closeness,  and  polish  of  the  short  piles  that  compose 
it,  rejects  the  adhesion  of  almost  every  species  of  earth, 
defends  the  animal  from  cold  and  wet,  and  from  the  imped- 
iment which  it  would  experience  by  the  mould  sticking  to 
its  body.  From  soils  of  all  kinds  the  little  pioneer  comes 
forth  bright  and  clean.  Inhabiting  dirt,  it  is,  of  all  animals, 
the  neatest. 

But  what  I have  always  most  admired  in  the  mole  is  its 
njes.  This  animal  occasionally  visiting  the  surface,  and 
wanting,  for  its  safety  and  direction,  to  be  informed  when 
it  does  so,  or  when  it  approaches  it,  a perception  of  light 
was  necessary.  I do  not  know  that  the  clearness  of  sight 
depends  at  all  upon  the  size  of  the  organ.  What  is  gained 
by  the  largeness  or  prominence  of  the  globe  of  the  eye  is 
width  in  the  field  of  vision.  Such  a capacity  would  be  of 
no  use  to  an  animal  which  was  to  seek  its  food  in  the  dark. 
The  mole  did  not  want  to  look  about  it;  nor  would  a large 
advanced  eye  have  been  easily  defended  from  the  annoy- 


COMPENSAnON. 


157 


ance  to  which  the  life  of  the  animal  must  constantly  ex 
pose  it.  How  indeed  was  the  mole,  working  its  way  un- 
der ground,  to  guard  its  eyes  at  all?  In  order  to  meet 
this  difiiculty,  the  eyes  are  made  scarcely  larger  than  the 
head  of  a ^'orking-pin;  and  these  minute  globules  are  sunk 
so  deep  ir.  the  skull,  and  lie  so  sheltered  within  the  velvet 
of  its  covering,  as  that  any  contraction  of  what  may  be 
called  the  eye  brows,  not  only  closes  up  the  apertures 
wJiich  lead  to  the  eyes,  but  presents  a cushion,  as  it  were, 
to  any  sharp  or  protruding  substance,  which  might  push 
against  them.  This  aperture,  even  in  its  ordinary  state,  is 
like  a pin-hole  in  a piece  of  velvet,  scarcely  pervious  to 
loose  particles  of  earth. 

Observe  then,  in  this  structure,  that  which  we  caii  re- 
lation. There  is  no  natural  connexion  between  a small 
sunk  eye  and  a shovel  palmated  foot.  Palmated  feet  might 
have  been  joined  with  goggle  eyes;  or  small  eyes  might 
have  been  joined  with  feet  of  any  other  form.  What  was 
it  therefore  which  brought  them  together  in  the  mole? 
That  which  brought  together  the  barrel,  the  chain,  and  the 
fusee,  in  a watch;  design:  and  design,  in  both  cases,  in- 
ferred from  the  relation  which  the  parts  bear  to  one  an- 
other in  the  prosecution  of  a common  purpose.  As  hath 
already  been  observed,  there  are  different  ways  of  stating 
the  relation,  according  as  we  set  out  from  a different  part. 
In  the  instance  before  us,  we  may  either  consider  the 
shape  of  the  feet,  as  qualifying  the  animal  for  that  mode 
of  life  and  inhabitation  to  which  the  structure  of  its  eyes 
coihnes  it;  or  we  may  consider  the  structure  of  the  eye, 
as  the  only  one  which  would  have  suited  with  the  action 
to  which  the  feet  are  adapted.  The  relation  is  manifest, 
whichever  of  the  parts  related  we  place  first  in  the  order 
of  our  consideration.  In  a word;  the  feet  of  the  mole  are 
made  for  digging;  the  neck,  nose,  eyes,  ears,  and  skin,  are 
peculiarly  adapted  to  an  under-ground  life;  and  this  is 
what  I call  relation.  [PI.  XXX.  fig.  1.) 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

COMPENSATION. 

Compensation  is  a species  of  relation.  It  is  relation 
when  the  defects  of  one  part,  or  of  one  organ,  are  supplied 

O 


158 


COMPENSATION. 


by  the  structure  of  another  part,  or  of  ani>ther  organ 
Thus, 

I.  The  short,  unbending  neck  of  the  elephant,  is  com- 
pensated by  the  length  and  flexibility  of  his  prohos,  is.  He 
could  not  have  reached  the  ground  without  it;  or,  if  it  be 
supposed  that  he  might  have  fed  upon  the  fruit,  leaves,  or 
branches  of  trees,  how  was  he  to  drink?  Should  it  be 
asked,  v/hy  is  the  elephant’s  neck  so  short?  it  may  be  an- 
swered that  the  weight  of  a head  so  heavy  could  not  have 
been  supported  at  the  end  of  a longer  lever.  To  a form, 
therefore,  in  some  respects  necessary,  but  in  some  respects 
also  inadequate  to  the  occasion  of  the  animal,  a supple- 
ment is  added,  which  exactly  makes  up  the  deficiency  un- 
der which  he  labored. 

If  it  be  suggested  that  this  proboscis  may  have  been 
produced,  in  a long  course  of  generations,  by  the  constant 
endeavour  of  the  elephant  to  thrust  out  his  nose  (which  is 
the  general  hypothesis  by  which  it  has  lately  been  attempt- 
ed to  account  for  the  forms  of  animated  nature,)  I would 
ask,  how  was  the  animal  to  subsist  in  the  meantime,  dur- 
ing the  process,  until  this  elongation  of  snout  was  com- 
pleted? What  was  to  become  of  the  individual,  whilst 
the  species  was  perfecting? 

Our  business  at  present  is,  simply  to  point  out  the  rela- 
tion which  this  organ  bears  to  the  peculiar  figure  of  the 
animal  to  which  it  belongs.  And  herein  all  things  corres- 
pond. The  necessity  of  the  elephant’s  proboscis  arises 
from  the  shortness  of  his  neck;  the  shortness  of  the  neck 
is  rendered  necessary  by  the  weight  of  the  head.  Were 
we  to  enter  into  an  examination  of  the  structure  and  anat- 
omy of  the  proboscis  itself,  we  should  see  in  it  one  of  the 
most  curious  of  all  examples  of  animal  mechanism.  [PI 
XXX.  fig.  2,  3,  4,  5.]  The  disposition  of  the  ringlets 
and  fibres,  for  the  purpose,  first  of  forming  a long  cartilag- 
inous pipe;  secondly,  of  contracting  and  lengthening  that 
pijie;  thirdly,  of  turning  it  in  every  direction  at  the  will 
of  the  animal;  with  the  superaddition  at  the  end,  of  a 
fleshy  production,  of  about  the  length  and  thickness  of  a 
finger,  and  performing  the  office  of  a finger,  so  as  to  pick 
up  a straw  from  the  ground;  these  properties  cf  the  same 
organ,  taken  together,  exhibit  a specimen,  no  only  of  de- 
sign, (which  is  attested  by  the  advantage,)  but  of  consum- 
mate art  and,  as  I may  say,  of  elaborate  preparation,  in 
accomplisniiig  that  design. 

II  The  hook  in  the  wing  of  a hat  is  strictly  a me- 
chanical, and  also  a compensating  contrivance.  [PI.  XXX 


COMPENSATION, 


159 


fig.  6.]  At  le  angle  of  its  wing  there  is  a bent  claw, 
exactly  in  the  form  of  a hook,  by  which  the  bat  at- 
taches itself  to  the  sides  of  rocks,  caves,  and  buildings, 
laying  hold  of  crevices,  joinings,  chinks,  and  roughnesses. 
It  hooks  itself  by  this  claw ; remains  suspended  by  this 
hold;  takes  its  flight  from  this  position:  which  operations 
compensate  for  the  decrepitude  of  its  legs  and  feet.  With- 
out her  hook,  the  bat  would  be  the  most  helpless  of  all 
animals.  She  car# neither  run  upon  her  feet,  nor  raise 
herself  from  the  ground.  These  inabilities  are  made  up 
to  her  by  the  contrivance  in  her  wing:  and  in  placing 
a claw  on.  that  part,  the  Creator  has  deviated  from  the 
analogy  observed  in  winged  animals. — singular  defect 
required  a singular  substitute. 

III.  The  crane  kind  are  to  live  and  seek  their  food 
amongst  the  waters;  yet,  having  no  web-feet,  are  incapa- 
ble of  swimming.  To  make  up  for  this  deficiency,  they 
are  furnished  with  long  legs  for  wading,  or  long  bills  for 
groping;  or  usually  with  both.  This  is  compensation.  But 
I think  the  true  reflection  upon  the  present  instance  is, 
how  every  part  of  nature  is  tenanted  by  appropriate  in- 
habitants. Not  only  is  the  surface  of  deep  waters  peopled 
by  numerous  tribes  of  birds  that  swim,  but  marshes  and 
shallow  pools  are  furnished  with  hardly  less  numerous  tribes 
of  birds  that  wade. 

IV.  The  common  parrot  has,  in  the  structure  of  its 
beak,  both  an  inconveniency,  and  a compensation  for  it 
When  I speak  of  an  inconveniency,  I have  a view  to  a di- 
lemma which  frequently  occurs  in  the  works  of  nature,  viz. 
that  the  peculiarity  of  structure  by  which  an  organ  is  made 
to  answer  one  purpose,  necessarily  unfits  it  for  s^me  other 
purpose.  This  is  the  case  before  us.  The  upper  bill  of  a 
parrot  is  so  much  hooked,  and  so  much  overlaps  the  lower, 
that  if,  as  in  other  birds,  the  lower  chap  alone  had  motion, 
the  bird  could  scarcely  gape  wide  enough  to  receive  its 
food:  yet  this  hook  and  overlapping  of  the  bill  could  not 
be  spared,  for  it  forms  the  very  instrument  by  which  the 
bird  climbs,  to  say  nothing  of  the  use  which  it  makes  ox 
it  in  breaking  nuts  and  the  hard  substances  upon  which  it 
faeds.  How,  therefore,  has  nature  provided  for  the  open- 
ing of  this  occluded  mouth?  By  making  the  upper  chap 
movable,  [PI.  XXX.  fig.  7,]  as  well  as  the  lower.  In 
most  birds,  the  upper  chap  is  connected,  and  makes  but 
one  piece  with  the  skull;  but  in  the  parrot,  the  upper  chap 
is  joined  to  the  bone  of  the  head  by  a strong  membran«> 


160 


COMPENSATION. 


placed  on  each  side  of  it,  which  lifts  and  depresses  it  a* 
pleasure.* 

V.  The  spider’s  iveh  is  a compensating  contrivance 
The  spider  lives  upon  flies,  without  wings  to  pursue  them; 
a case,  one  would  have  thought,  of  great  difficulty,  yet 
provided  for;  and  provided  for  by  a resource,  which  no 
stratagem,  no  effort  of  the  animal,  could  have  produced, 
had  not  both  its  external  and  internal  structure  been  speci- 
fica  ly  adapted  to  the  operation.  ^ 

VI.  In  many  species  of  insects,  the  eye  is  fixed;  and 
consequently  without  the  power  of  turning  the  pupil  to  the 
object.  This  great  defect  is,  however,  perfectly  compensate 
ed;  and  by  a mechanism  which  we  should  not  suspect. 
The  eye  is  a multiplying  glass,  with  a lens  looking  in 
every  direction  and  catching  every  object.  By  which 
means,  although  the  orb  of  the  eye  be  stationary,  the  field 
of  vision  is  as  ample  as  that  of  other  animals,  and  is 
commanded  on  every  side.  [PI.  XXX.  fig.  8.]  When 
this  lattice-work  was  first  observed,  the  multiplicity  and 
minuteness  of  the  surfaces  must  have  added  to  the  surprise 
of  the  discovery.  Adams  tells  us,  that  fourteen  hundred 
of  these  reticulations  have  been  counted  in  the  two  eyes  of 
a drone  bee. 

In  other  cases  the  compensation  is  effected  by  the  num- 
ber and  position  of  the  eyes  themselves.  [PI.  XXX.  fig.  9.] 
The  spider  has  eight  eyes,  mounted  upon  different  parts  of 
the  head;  two  in  front,  two  in  the  top  of  the  head,  two  on 
each  side.  These  eyes  are  without  motion;  but,  by  their 
situation,  **suited  to  comprehend  every  view  which  the  wants 
or  safety  of  the  animal  may  render  it  necessary  for  it  to  take 

VII.  The  Memoirs  for  the  Natural  History  of  Animals, 
published  by  the  French  Academy,  A.  D.  1687,  furnish  us 
with  some  curious  particulars  in  the  eye  of  a chameleon. 
[PI.  XXXI.  fig.  1.]  Instead  of  two  eyelids,  it  is  covered 
by  an  eyelid  with  a hole  in  it.  This  singular  structure  ap- 
pears to  be  compensatory,  and  to  answer  to  some  other  sin- 
gularities in  the  shape  of  the  animal.  The  neck  of  the 
chameleon  is  inflexible.  To  make  up  for  this,  the  eye  is 
so  prominent,  as  that  more  than  half  the  ball  stands  out  of 
the  head.  By  means  of  which  extraordinary  projection, 
the  pupil  of  the  eye  can  be  carried  by  the  muscles  in  every 
direction,  and  is  capable  of  being  pointed  towards  every 
ol)j(3ct.  But  then,  so  unusual  an  exposure  of  the  globe  of 
.lie  eye  re'ruires,  for  its  lubricity  and  defence,  a more  than 

* Goldsmith’s  Nat.  Hist.  vol.  v.  p.  274. 


COMPENSATION. 


I6I 


( Jinary  pr-rleoiion  of  eyelid,  as  well  as  a more  than  oi  - 
diaary  supply  of  moisture;  yet  the  motion  of  an  eyelid, 
formed  according  to  the  common  construction,  would  be 
impeded,  as  it  should  seem,  by  the  convexity  of  the  organ. 
The  aperture  in  the  lid  meets  this  difficulty.  It  enables 
the  animal  to  keep  the  principal  part  of  the  surface  of  the 
eye  under  cover,  and  to  preserve  it  in  a due  state  of  hu- 
midity without  shutting  out  the  light;  or  without  perform- 
ing every  moment  a nictitation,  which,  it  is  probable,  would 
be  more  laborious  to  this  animal  than  to  others. 

VIII.  In  another  animal,  and  in  another  part  of  the 
animal  economy,  the  same  Memoirs  describe  a most  re- 
markable substitution.  The  reader  will  remember  what 
we  have  already  observed  concerning  the  intestinal  canal; 
that  its  length,  so  many  times  exceeding  that  of  the  body, 
promotes  the  extraction  of  the  chyle  from  the  aliment,  by 
giving  room  for  the  lacteal  vessels  to  act  upon  it  through 
a greater  space.  This  long  intestine,  wherever  it  occurs, 
is  in  other  animals  disposed  in  the  abdomen  from  side  to 
side  in  returning  folds.  But,  in  the  animal  now  under 
our  notice,  the  matter  is  managed  otherwise.  The  same 
intention  is  mechanically  effectuated;  but  by  a mechanism 
of  a different  kind.  The  animal  of  which  I speak  is  an 
amphibious  quadruped,  which  our  authors  call  the  alope- 
cias, or  sea-fox.  [PI.  XXXI.  fig.  2,  3.]  The  intestine 
is  straight  from  one  end  to  the  other:  but  in  this  straight 
and  consequently  short  intestine,  is  a winding,  corkscrew, 
spiral  passage,  through  which  the  food,  not  without  several 
circumvolutions,  and  in  fact  by  along  route,  is  conducted 
to  its  exit.  Here  the  shortness  of  the  gut  is  compensated 
by  the  obliquity  of  the  perforation. 

IX.  But  the  works  of  the  Deity  are  known  by  expe- 
dients. Where  we  should  look  for  absolute  destitution; 
where  we  can  reckon  up  nothing  but  wants,  some  contr 
vance  always  comes  in  to  supply  the  privation.  A snail 
without  wings,  feet,  or  thread,  climbs  up  the  stalks  ol 
plants,  by  the  sole  aid  of  a viscid  humour  discharged  from 
her  skin.  She  adheres  to  the  stems,  leaves,  and  fruits 
of  plants,  by  means  of  a sticking  plaster.  A muscle, 
which  might  seem,  by  its  helplessness,  to  lie  at  the  mercy 
of  every  wave  that  went  over  it,  has  the  singular  power  of 
spinning  strong  tendinous  threads,  by  which  she  moors 
her  shell  to  rocks  and  timbers.  A cockle,  on  the  contrary, 
by  means  of  its  stiff  tongue,  works  for  itself  a shelter  in  the 
sand.  The  provisions  of  nature  extend  to  cases  the  most 
desperate.  A lobster  has  in  its  constitution  a difficulty  so 

O * 


162 


COMPENSATION. 


great,  that  one  could  hardly  conjecture  beforehand  ho^v 
nature  would  dispose  of  it.  In  most  animals,  the  skin 
grows  with  their  growth.  If,  instead  of  a soil  skin,  there 
be  a shell,  still  it  admits  of  a gradual  enlargement.  If  the 
shell,  as  in  the  tortoise,  consists  of  several  pieces,  the  ac- 
cession of  substance  is  made  at  the  sutures.  Bivalve  shells 
grow  bigger  by  receiving  an  accretion  at  their  edge;  it  is 
the  same  with  spiral  shells  at  their  mouth.  The  simplici- 
y of  their  form  admits  of  this.  But  the  lobster’s  shell  be- 
ing applied  to  the  limbs  of  the  body,  as  well  as  to  the  body 
itself,  allows  not  of  either  of  the  modes  of  growth  which 
are  observed  to  take  place  in  other  shells.  Its  hardness 
resists  expansion;  and  its  complexity  renders  it  incapable 
of  increasing  its  size  by  addition  of  substance  to  its  edg« 
How  then  was  the  growth  of  the  lobster  to  be  provided  fo  ^ 
Was  room  to  be  made  for  it  in  the  old  shell,  or  was  it  o 
be  successively  fitted  with  new  ones?  If  a change  of  sh  il 
became  necessary,  how  was  the  lobster  to  extricate  hims^  If 
from  his  present  confinement?  How  was  he  to  uncase  his 
buckler,  or  draw  his  legs  out  of  his  boots?  The  process, 
which  fishermen  have  observed  to  take  place,  is  as  follows: 
At  certain  seasons,  the  shell  of  a lobster  grows  soft,  the 
animal  swells  its  body,  the  seams  open,  and  the*  claws 
burst  at  the  joints.  When  the  shell  has  thus  become  loose 
upon  the  body,  the  animal  makes  a second  effort,  and  by 
a tremulous,  spasmodic  motion,  casts  it  off.  In  this  state, 
the  liberated  but  defenceless  fish  retires  into  holes  in  the 
rock.  The  released  body  now  suddenly  pushes  its  growth. 
In  about  eight  and  forty  hours,  a fresh  concretion  of  hu- 
mour upon  the  surface,  i.  e.  a new  shell,  is  formed,  adapted 
in  every  part  to  the  increased  dimensions  of  the  animal 
Tliis  wonderful  mutation  is  repeated  every  year. 

If  there  be  imputed  defects  without  compensation,  I 
ihould  suspect  that  they  were  defects  only  in  appearance, 
riius,  the  body  of  the  sloth  has  often  been  reproached 
^or  the  slowness  of  its  motions,  which  has  been  attributed 
.o  an  imperfection  in  the  formation  of  its  limbs.  But  it 
jught  to  be  observed,  that  it  is  this  slowness  which  alone 
suspends  the  voracity  of  the  animal.  He  fasts  during  his 
migration  from  one  tree  to  another;  and  this  fast  may  be 
necessary  for  the  relief  of  his  over-charged  vessels,  as  well 
us  to  allow  time  for  the  concoction  of  the  mass  of  coarse 
and  hard  food  which  he  has  taken  into  his  stomach.  The 
tardiness  of  his  pace  seems  to  have  reference  to  the  capac- 
ity of  nis  organa,  ai  d to  his  propensities  with  respect  lo 


COMPENSATION-. 


163 


food;  i e.  is  calculated  to  counteract  the  effects  of  reple^ 
tion.^ 

Or  there  may  be  cases  in  which  a defect  is  artificial,  and 
compensated  by  the  very  cause  which  produces  it.  Thus 
the  s/ieepj  in  the  domesticated  state  in  which  we  see  it,  is 
destitute  of  the  ordinary  means  of  defence  or  escape;  is 
incapable  either  of  resistance  or  flight.  But  this  is  not  so 
with  the  wild  animal.  The  natural  sheep  is  swift  and 
active;  and  if  it  lose  these  qualities  when  it  comes  under 
the  subjection  of  man,  the  loss  is  compensated  by  his  pro- 
tection. Perhaps  there  is  no  species  of  quadruped  wliat- 
ever,  wh’ch  sutlers  so  little  as  this  does  from  the  depreda- 
tion of  animals  of  prey. 

For  the  sake  of  making  our  meaning  better  understood, 
we  have  considered  this  business  of  compensation  under 
certain  pmiiculaHlies  of  constitution,  in  which  it  appears 
to  be  most  conspicuous.  This  view  of  the  subject  neces- 
sarily limits  the  instances  to  sngle  species  of  animals.  But 
there  are  compensations,  perliaps  not  less  certain,  which 
extend  over  large  classes,  and  to  large  portions  of  living 
nature. 

I.  In  quadrupeds,  the  deficiency  of  teeth  is  usually  co?n- 
pensated  by  the  faculty  of  rumination.  The  sheep,  deer, 
and  ox  tribe,  are  without  fore-teeth  in  the  upper  jaw.  These 
ruminate.  The  horse  and  ass  are  furnished  with  teeth  in 
the  upper  jaw,  and  do  not  ruminate.  In  the  former  class, 
the  grass  and  hay  descend  into  the  stomach  nearly  in  the 
state  in  which  they  are  cropped  from  the  pasture,  or  gath- 
ered from  the  bundle.  In  the  stomach,  they  are  softened 
by  the  gastric  juice,  which  in  these  animals  is  unusually 
copious.  Thus  softened  and  rendered  tender,  they  are 
returned  a second  time  to  the  action  of  the  mouth,  where 
the  grinding  teeth  complete  at  their  leisure  the  trituration 

* Blumenbach  states,  in  his  Manual  of  Natural  History,  that  he  had 
conversed  with  many  Hollanders  who  had  lived  in  Guiana,  and  from 
them  collected,  that  this  apparently  miserable  animal  is  rather  an  en- 
viable one.  First,  he  nourishes  himself  entirely  from  leaves,  and,  there- 
fore, when  he  has  once  climbed  a tree,  he  can  live  on  the  same  dish  a 
quarter  of  a year.  Secondly,  he  does  not  drink  at  all.  Thirdly,  on  a 
tree  he  is  exposed  to  but  few  eaemies,  and  when  the  sloth  marks  that 
a tiger-cat  is  climbing  up  a brinch,  it  goes  softly  to  the  end  of  the 
jranch,  and  rocks  it  till  the  tiger-cat  falls  off,  so  that  seldom  is  there 
an  instance  that  a tiger-cat  surprises  one:  even  upon  the  ground,  so 
powerful  are  the  claws  of  the  sloth,  and  so  fearful  its  cries,  that  its 
enemies  generally  get  the  worst.  So  idle  is  Buffon’s  declamation  against 
the  goodness  and  wisdom  of  Providence,  draw  n from  this  beast. 

Paxton 


IG4 


COMPENSATION. 


which  is  necessary,  but  which  was  before  left  imperfect.  1 
say,  the  trituration  which  is  necessary;  for  it  appears  from 
experiments,  that  the  gastric  fluid  of  sheep,  for  example, 
has  no  effec:  in  digesting  plants,  unless  they  have  been 
previously  masticated;  that  it  only  produces  a slight  mac- 
eration, nearly  as  common  water  would  do  in  a like  degree 
of  heat;  but  that  when  once  vegetables  are  reduced  to 
pieces  by  mastication,  the  fluid  then  exerts  upon  them  its 
specific  operation.  Its  first  effect  is  to  soften  them,  and  to 
destroy  their  natural  consistency;  it  then  goes  on  to  dis- 
solve them;  not  sparing  even  the  toughest  parts,  such  as 
the  nerves  of  the  leaves.^ 

I think  it  very  probable,  that  the  gratification  also  of  the 
animal  is  renewed  and  prolonged  by  this  faculty.  Sheep, 
deer,  and  oxen,  appear  to  be  in  a state  of  enjoyment  whilst 
they  are  chewing  the  cud.  It  is  then,  perhaps,  that  they 
best  relish  their  food. 

II.  In  birds,  the  compensation  is  still  more  striking. 
They  have  no  teeth  at  all.  What  have  they  then  to  make 
up  for  this  severe  want.^  I speak  of  granivorous  and 
herbivorous  birds;  such  as  common  fowls,  turkeys,  ducks, 
geese,  pigeons,  &c.  for  it  is  concerning  these  alone  that 
the  question  need  be  asked.  All  these  are  furnished  with 
a peculiar  and  most  powerful  muscle  called  the  gizzard; 
the  inner  coat  of  which  is  fitted  up  with  rough  plates,  which, 
by  a strong  friction  against  one  another,  break  and  grind 
the  hard  aliment  as  effectually,  and  by  the  same  mechani- 
cal action,  as  a coffee-mill  would  do.  It  has  been  proved 
by  the  most  correct  experiments,  that  the  gastric  juice 
of  these  birds  wfill  not  operate  upon  the  entire  grain;  not 
even  when  softened  by  water  or  macerated  in  the  crop. 
Therefore,  without  a grinding  machine  within  its  body, 
without  the  trituration  of  the  gizzard,  a chicken  would  have 
starved  upon  a heap  of  corn.  Yet  w hy  should  a bill  and  a 
gizzard  go  together  ? Why  should  a gizzard  never  be  found 
where  .here  are  teeth? 

Nor  does  the  gizzard  belong  to  birds  as  such.  A giz- 
zard is  not  found  in  birds  of  prey.  Their  food  requires 
not  to  be  ground  down  in  a mill.  The  compensatory  con- 
trivance goes  no  farther  than  the  necessity.  In  both  clas- 
ses of  birds,  however,  the  digestive  organ  within  the  body 
bears  a strict  and  mechanical  relation  to  the  external  in- 
struments for  procuring  food.  The  soft  membranous  sto- 
mach, accompanies  the  hooked,  notched  beak;  tho  short 


Spall,  dis.  III.  Sect.  140. 


^COMPENSATION. 


165 


muscular  legs;  the  strong,  sharp,  crooked  talons:  The  car- 
tilaginous stomach  attends  that  conformation  of  bill  and 
toes,  which  restrains  the,  bird  to  the  picking  of  seeds,  or 
the  cropping  of  plants. 

III.  But  to  proceed  with  our  compensations. — A very 
numerous  and  comprehensive  tribe  of  terrestrial  animals 
are  entirely  without  feet;  yet  locomotive;  and  in  a very 
considerable  degree  swift  in  their  motion.  How  is  the 
cant  of  feet  compensated?  It  is  done  by  the  disposition 
?f  the  muscles  and  fibres  of  the  trunk.  In  consequence  of 
the  just  collocation,  and  by  means  of  the  joint  action  of 
longitudinal  and  annular  fibres,  that  is  to  say,  of  strings 
and  rings,  the  body  and  train  of  reptiles*  are  capable  of  be- 
ing reciprocally  shortened  and  lengthened,  drawn  up  and 
stretched  out.  The  result  of  this  action  is  a progressive, 
and  in  some  cases,  a rapid  movement  of  the  whole  body, 
in  any  direction  to  which  the  will  of  the  animal  determine?! 
it.  The  meanest  creature  is  a collection  of  wonders.  Thi5 
play  of  the  rings  in  an  eartJi-xcorm  as  it  crawls;  the  undu 
latory  motion  propagated  along  the  body;  the  beards  or 
prickles  with  which  the  annuli  are  armed,  and  which  thr 
animal  can  either  shut  up  close  to  its  body,  or  let  out  to  la} 
hold  of  the  roughness  of  the  surface  upon  which  it  creeps; 
and  the  power  arising  from  all  these,  of  changing  its  place 
and  position,  affords,  when  compared  with  the  provisions 
for  motion  in  other  animals,  proofs  of  new  and  appropriate 
mechanism.  Suppose  that  we  had  never  seen  an  animal 
move  upon  the  ground  without  feet,  and  that  the  problem 
was;  muscular  action,  i.  e.  reciprocal  contraction  and  rel 
axation  being  given,  to  describe  how  such  an  animal  might 
be  constructed,  capable  of  voluntarily  changing  place 
Something,  perhaps,  like  the  organization  of  reptiles 
might  have  been  hit  upon  by  the  ingenuity  of  an  artist;  or 
might  have  been  exhibited  in  an  automaton,  by  the  com- 
bination of  springs,  spiral  wires,  and  ringlets;  but  to  the 
solution  of  the  problem  would  not  be  denied,  surely,  (he 

* Contraction  and  expansion  is  the  mode  of  progression  in  toor?ns,  but 
not  in  reptiles;  in  the  class  of  serpents  locomotion  consists  simply  of  re. 
pcated  horhontal  undulations,  viz.  flexion  and  extension.  Thus  the  head 
being  the  fixed  point,  the  body  and  tail  assume  several  curves;  the  tail 
than  becomes  the  fixed  point,  the  curvatures  are  straightened,  and  thus  the 
animal  advances  with  a serpentine  motion.  By  these  successive  curva- 
tures and  right  lines  alternating,  it  moves  forward  at  each  step  nearly  the 
length  of  the  whole  body;  the  ribs,  which  Sir  E.  Home  considers  to  act 
as  feet,  hiving  nothing  to  do  with  locomotion  unless  as  affording  a fulcrum 
for  the  muscles. — Paxton 


166 


THE  RELATION  OF  ANIMATED  BODIES 


praise  of  invention  and  of  successful  thought:  least  of  alj 
could  it  ever  be  questioned,  whether  intelligence  had  been 
employed  about  it,  or  not. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  RELATION  OF  ANIMATED  BODIES  TO  INANIMATE  NATURE 

We  have  already  considered  relation,  and  under  differ* 
ent  views;  but  it  was  the  relation  of  parts  to  parts,  of  the 
parts  of  an  animal  to  other  parts  of  the  same  animal,  or  of 
another  individual  of  the  same  species. 

But  the  bodies  of  animals  hold,  in  their  constiiuiion  and 
properties,  a close  and  important  relation  to  natures  alto- 
gether external  to  their  own ; to  inanimate  substances,  and 
to  the  specific  qualities  of  these;  e.  g.  they  hold  a strict 
relation  to  the  elements  by  ivhich  they  are  surrounded. 

I.  Can  it  be  doubted,  whether  the  ivings  of  birds  bear 
a relation  to  air,  and  the  fins  of  fish  to  water?  They  are 
instruments  of  motion,  severally  suited  to  the  properties 
of  the  medium  in  which  the  motion  is  to  be  performed: 
which  properties  are  different.  Was  not  this  difference 
contemplated,  when  the  instruments  were  differently  con- 
stituted ? 

II.  The  structure  of  the  animal  ear  depends  for  its  use, 
not  simply  upon  being  surrounded  by  a fluid,  but  upon  the 
specific  nature  of  that  fluid.  Every  fluid  would  not  serve: 
its  particles  must  repel  one  another,  it  must  form  an  elastic 
medium:  for  it  is  by  the  successive  pulses  of  such  a medi- 
um, that  the  undulations  excited  by  the  surrounding  body 
are  carried  to  the  organ;  that  a communication  is  formed 
between  the  object  and  the  sense;  which  must  be  done  be- 
fore the  internal  machinery  of  the  ear,  subtile  as  it  is,  can 
act  at  all. 

III.  The  organs  of  voice  and  respiration  are,  no  less 
tlian  the  ear,  indebted  for  the  success  of  their  opera- 
tion to  the  peculiar  qualities  of  the  fluid  in  which  the 
animal  is  immersed.  They,  therefore,  as  well  as  the  ear, 
are  constituted  upon  the  supposition  of  such  a fluid,  i.  e.  of 
a fluid  with  srich  particular  properties,  being  always  pres- 
ent. Chang:  the  properties  of  the  fluid,  and  the  organ 
cam  ot  act;  change  the  organ,  and  the  properties  of  the 
fluid  would  be  lost  The  structure  therefore,  of  our  or- 


TO  INANIMATE  NATURE. 


i67 


gans,  and  the  properties  of  our  atmosphere,  are  made  for 
one  another.  Nor  does  it  alter  the  relation,  whether  you 
allege  the  organ  to  be  made  for  the  element,  (^which  seems 
the  most  natural  way  of  considering  it,)  or  the  element  as 
prepared  for  the  organ. 

IV.  But  there  is  another  fluid  with  which  we  have  to  do; 
with  properties  of  its  own;  with  laws  of  acting,  and  of  be- 
ing acted  upon,  totally  different  from  those  of  air  and  water: 
and  that  is  light.  To  this  new,  this  singular  element;  to 
qualities  perfectly  peculiar,  perfectly  distinct  and  remote 
from  the  qualities  of  any  other  substance  with  which  we 
are  acquainted,  an  organ  is  adapted,  an  instrument  is  cor- 
rectly adjusted,  not  less  peculiar  amongst  the  parts  of  the 
body,  not  less  singular  in  its  form,  and  in  the  substance  of 
which  it  is  composed,  not  less  remote  from  the  materials, 
the  model,  and  the  analogy  of  any  other  part  of  the  animal 
frame,  than  the  element  to  which  it  relates  is  specific 
amidst  the  substances  with  which  we  converse.  If  this 
does  not  prove  appropriation,  I desire  to  know  what  would 
prove  it. 

Yet  the  element  of  light  and  fhe  organ  of  vision,  how 
ever  related  in  their  office  and  use,  have  no  connexion 
whatever  in  their  original.  The  action  of  rays  of  light 
upon  the  surfaces  of  animals,  has  no  tendency  to  breed  eyes 
in  their  heads.  The  sun  might  shine  forever  upon  living 
bodies,  without  the  smallest  approach  towards  producing  the 
sense  of  sight.  On  the  other  hand  also,  the  animal  eye 
does  not  generate  or  emit  light. 

V.  Throughout  the  universe  there  is  a wonderful  p 
portioning  of  one  thing  to  another.  The  size  of  animals, 
of  the  human  animal  especially,  when  considered  with  re- 
spect to  other  animals,  or  to  the  plants  which  grow  around 
him,  is  such,  as  a regard  to  his  conveniency  would  have 
pointed  out.  A giant  or  a pigmy  could  not  have  milked 
goats,  reaped  corn,  or  mowed  grass;  we  may  add,  could 
not  have  rode  a horse,  trained  a vine,  shorn  a sheep,  with 
the  same  bodily  ease  as  we  do,  if  at  all.  A pigrr  y would 
have  been  lost  amongst  rushes,  or  carried  off  by  oirds  of 
prey. 

It  may  be  mentioned  likewise,  that  the  model  and  the 
materials  of  the  human  body  being  what  they  are,  a much 
greater  bulk  would  have  broken  down  by  its  own  weight. 
The  persons  of  men  who  much  exceed  the  ordinary  stat- 
ure, betray  this  tendency. 

VI.  Again  (and  which  includes  a vast  variety  of  paitic- 
ulars,  and  those  of  the  greatest  importance;)  how  close  is 


168 


THE  RELATION  OF  ANIMATED  BODIES 


the  suitableness  of  the  earth  and  sea  to  their  several  in 
nabitants;  and  of  these  inhabitants,  to  the  places  of  theii 
appointed  residence! 

Take  the  earth  as  it  is;  and  consider  the  corresponden- 
cy of  the  powers  of  its  inhabitants  with  the  properties  and 
condition  of  the  soil  which  they  tread.  Take  the  inliab- 
itants  as  they  are;  and  consider  the  substances  which  the 
earth  yields  for  their  use.  They  can  scratch  its  surface, 
and  its  surface  supplies  all  which  they  want.  This  is  the 
length  of  their  faculties!  and  such  is  the  constitution  of 
the  globe,  and  their  own,  that  this  is  sufficient  for  all  their 
occasions. 

When  we  pass  from  the  earth  to  the  sea,  from  land  to 
water,  we  pass  through  a great  change;  but  an  adequate 
change  accompanies  us  of  animal  forms  and  functions,  of 
animal  capacities  and  wants ; so  that  correspondency  remains. 
The  earth  in  its  nature  is  very  different  from  the  sea,  and 
the  sea  from  the  earth;  but  one  accords  with  its  inhabitants 
as  exactly  as  the  other. 

VII.  The  last  relation  of  this  kind  which  I shall  men- 
tion is  that  of  sleep  to  night;  and  it  appears  to  me  to  be 
a relation  which  was  expressly  intended.  Two  points  are 
manifest:  first,  that  the  animal  frame  requires  sleep;  sec- 
ondly, that  night  brings  with  it  a silence,  and  a cessation 
of  activity,  which  allows  of  sleep  being  taken  without  in- 
terruption, and  without  loss.  Animal  existence  is  made 
up  of  action  and  slumber;  nature  has  provided  a season  for 
each.  An  animal  which  stood  not  in  need  of  rest,  would 
always  live  in  daylight.  An  animal  which,  though  made 
for  action,  and  delighting  in  action,  must  have  its  strength 
repaired  by  sleep,  meets  by  its  constitution  the  returns  of 
day  and  night.  In  the  human  species,  for  instance,  were 
the  bustle,  the  labor,  the  motion  of  life,  upheld  by  the 
constant  presence  of  light,  sleep  could  not  be  enjoyed  with- 
out being  disturbed  by  noise,  and  without  expense  of  that 
time  which  the  eagerness  of  private  interest  would  not  con- 
tentedly resign.  It  is  happy  therefore  for  this  part  of  the 
creation,  I mean  that  it  is  conformable  to  the  frame  and 
wants  of  their  constitution,  that  nature,  by  the  very  dispo- 
sition of  her  elements,  has  commanded,  as  it  were,  and 
imposed  upon  them,  at  moderate  intervals,  a general  inter- 
mission of  their  toils,  their  occupations,  and  pursuits. 

But  it  is  not  for  man,  either  solely  or  principally,  that 
night  is  made.  Inferior,  but  less  perverted  natures,  taste 
its  solace,  and  expect  its  return  with  greater  exactness 
and  advantage  than  he  does.  I have  often  observed,  and 


TO  INANIMATE  NATURE. 


169 


never  observed  but  to  admire,  the  satisfactior  no  less  than 
the  regularity,  with  which  the  greatest  part  of  the  irration- 
al world  yield  to  this  soft  necessity,  this  grateful  vicissi- 
tude: how  comfortably  the  birds  of  the  air,  for  example, 
address  themselves  to  the  repose  of  the  evening;  with  what 
ahirtness  they  resume  the  activity  of  the  day! 

Nor  does  it  disturb  our  argument  to  confess,  that  certain 
species  of  animals  are  in  motion  during  the  night,  and  at 
rest  in  the  day.  With  respect  even  to  them,  it  is  still  true, 
that  there  is  a change  of  condition  in  the  animal,  and  an 
external  change  corresponding  with  it.  There  is  still  the 
relation,  though  inverted.  The  fact  is,  that  the  repose  of 
other  animals  sets  these  at  liberty,  and  invites  them  to  their 
food  or  their  sport. 

If  the  relation  of  sleep  to  nighty  and,  in  some  instances, 
its  converse,  be  real,  we  cannot  reflect  without  amazement 
upon  the  extent  to  which  it  carries  us.  Day  and  night  are 
things  close  to  us;  the  change  applies  immediately  to  our 
sensations;  of  all  the  phenomena  of  nature,  it  is  the  most 
obvious  and  the  most  familiar  to  our  experience;  but  in  its 
cause,  it  belongs  to  the  great  motions  which  are  passing 
in  the  heavens.  Whilst  the  earth  glides  round  her  axle, 
she  ministers  to  the  alternate  necessities  of  the  animals 
dwelling  upon  her  surface,  at  the  same  time  that  she  obeys 
the  influence  of  those  attractions  which  regulate  the  order 
of  many  thousand  worlds.  The  relation  therefore  of  sleep 
to  night,  is  the  relation  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  to 
the  rotation  of  their  globe ; probably  it  is  more ; it  is  a re- 
lation to  the  system,  of  which  that  globe  is  a part ; and  still 
farther,  to  the  congregation  of  systems,  of  which  theirs  is 
only  one.  If  this  account  be  true,  it  connects  the  meanest 
individual  with  the  universe  itself:  a chicken  roosting  upon 
its  perch,  with  the  spheres  revolving  in  the  firmament. 

VIII.  But  if  any  one  object  to  our  representation,  that 
the  succession  of  day  and  night,  or  the  rotation  of  the  earth 
upon  which  it  depends,  is  not  resolvable  into  central  at- 
traction, we  will  refer  him  to  that  which  certainly  is, — to 
he  change  of  the  seasons.  Now  the  constitution  of  ani- 
mals susceptible  of  torpor,  bears  a relation  to  winter,  simi- 
lar to  that  which  sleep  bears  to  night.  Against  not  only  tho 
cold,  but  the  want  of  food  which  the  approach  of  winter 
induces,  the  Preserver  of  the  world  has  provided  in  many 
animals  by  migration,  in  many  others  by  torpor.  As  one 
example  out  of  a thousand;  the  bat,  if  it  did  not  seep 
through  the  winter,  must  have  starved,  as  the  moths  and 
flying  insects,  upon  which  it  feeds,  disappear.  But  tho 

P 


170 


INSTINCTS. 


transition  from  summer  to  winter  carries  js  Lito  the  ver;y 
midst  of  physical  astronomy;  that  is  to  say,  into  the  midst 
of  those  laws  which  govern  the  solar  system  at  least,  and 
probably  all  the  heavenly  bodies. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

INSTINCTS. 

The  order  may  not  be  very  obvious,  by  which  I place 
instincts  next  to  relations.  But  I consider  them  as  g 
species  of  relation.  They  contribute,  along  with  the  ani- 
mal organization,  to  a joint  effect,  in  which  view  they  are 
related  to  that  organization.  In  many  cases,  they  refer 
from  one  animal  to  another  animal;  and  when  this  is  the 
case,  become  strictly  relations  in  a second  point  of  view. 

An  INSTINCT  is  a propensity  prior  to  experience,  and 
independent  of  instruction.  We  contend,  that  it  is  by 
instinct  that  the  sexes  of  animals  seek  each  other;  that 
animals  cherish  their  offspring;  that  the  young  quadruped 
is  directed  to  the  teat  of  its  dam;  that  birds  build  their 
nests,  and  brood  with  so  much  patience  upon  their  eggs; 
that  insects  which  do  not  sit  upon  their  eggs,  deposit  them 
in  those  particular  situations,  in  which  the  young,  when 
hatched,  find  their  appropriate  food;  that  it  is  instinct 
which  carries  the  salmon,  and  some  other  fish,  out  of  the 
sea  into  rivers,  for  the  purpose  of  shedding  their  spawn  in 
fresh  water. 

We  may  select  out  of  this  catalogue  the  incubation  of 
eggs.  I entertain  no  doubt,  but  that  a couple  of  sparrows 
hatched  in  an  oven,  and  kept  separate  from  the  rest  of 
their  species,  would  proceed  as  other  sparrows  do,  in  every 
office  which  related  to  the  production  and  preservation  of 
their  brood.  Assuming  this  fact,  the  thing  is  inexplicable 
upor  any  other  hypothesis  than  that  of  an  instinct  impress- 
ed upon  the  constitution  of  the  animal.  For,  first,  what 
should  induce  the  female  bird  to  prepare  a nest  before  she 
lays  her  eggs?  It  is  in  vain  to  suppose  her  to  be  possess- 
ed of  the  faculty  of  reasoning;  for  no  reasoning  will  reach 
the  case.  The  fulness  or  distention  which  she  might  fee 
in  a particular  part  of  her  body,  from  the  growth  and  so- 
lidity of  the  egg  within  her,  could  not  possilily  inform  her, 
that  she  was  about  to  produce  something,  which,  when  pro- 


INSTINCTS. 


171 


duced,  was  to  be  preserved  and  taken  care  of.  Prior  to 
e^xperience,  there  was  nothing  to  lead  to  this  inference,  of 
to  this  suspicion.  The  analogy  was  all  against  it ; for,  in 
every  other  instance,  what  issued  from  the  body,  was  cast 
out  and  rejected. 

But,  secondly,  let  us  suppose  the  egg  to  be  produced 
into  day;  how  should  birds  know  that  their  eggs  contain 
their  young  ^ there  is  nothing,  either  in  the  aspect,  or  in  the 
internal  composition  of  an  egg,  which  could  lead  even  the 
most  daring  imagination  to  conjecture,  that  it  was  here- 
after to  turn  out  from  under  its  shell,  a living,  perfect 
bird.  The  form  of  the  egg  bears  not  the  rudiments  of  a 
resemblance  to  that  of  the  bird.  Inspecting  its  contents, 
we  find  still  less  reason,  if  possible,  to  look  for  the  result 
which  actually  takes  place.  If  we  should  go  so  far,  as, 
from  the  appearance  of  order  and  distinction  in  the  dis- 
position of  the  liquid  substances  which  we  noticed  in  the 
egg,  to  guess  that  it  might  be  designed  for  the  abode  ana 
nutriment  of  an  animal,  (which  would  be  a very  bold  hy- 
pothesis,) we  should  expect  a tadpole  dabbling  in  the  slime, 
much  rather  than  a dry,  winged,  feathered  creature;  a 
compound  of  parts  and  properties  impossible  to  be  used  in 
a state  of  confinement  in  the  egg,  and  bearing  no  conceiv- 
able relation,  either  in  quality  or  material,  to  anything  ob- 
served in  it.  From  the  white  of  an  egg,  would  any  one 
look  for  the  feather  of  a goldfinch.^  or  expect  from  a sim- 
ple uniform  mucilage,  the  most  complicated  of  all  ma- 
chines, the  most  diversified  of  all  collections  of  substances? 
nor  would  the  process  of  incubation,  for  sometime  at  least, 
lead  us  to  suspect  the  event.  Who  that  saw  red  streaks 
shooting  in  the  fine  membrane  which  divides  the  white 
from  the  yolk,  would  suppose  that  these  were  about  to  be- 
come bones  and  limbs?  Who  that  espied  two  discolored 
points  first  making  their  appearance  in  the  cicatrix,  would 
have  had  the  courage  to  predict,  that  these  points  were  to 
grow  into  the  heart  and  head  of  a bird?  It  is  difficult  to 
strip  the  mind  of  its  experience.  It  is  difficult  to  resusci- 
tate surprise,  when  familiarity  has  once  laid  the  sentiment 
asleep.  But  could  we  forget  all  that  we  know,  and  which 
oiir  sparrows  never  knew,  about  oviparous  generation: 
could  we  divest  ourselves  of  every  information,  but  what  we 
derive  from  reasoning  upon  the  appearance  or  quality 
discovered  in  the  objects  presented  to  us,  I am  convinced 
that  Harlequin  coming  out  of  an  egg  upon  the  stage,  is  not 
more  astonishing  to  a child,  than  the  hatching  of  a chick- 
en both  would  be,  and  ought  to  be,  to  a philosopher. 


172 


INSTINCTS. 


But  admit  the  sparrow  by  some  means  o know,  tha. 
within  that  egg  was  concealed  the  principle  of  a future 
bird,  from  what  chemist  was  she  to  learn,  that  warmth  was 
necessary  to  bring  it  to  maturity,  or  that  the  degree  of 
warmth,  imparted  by  the  temperature  of  her  own  body,  was 
the  degree  required? 

To  suppose,  therefore,  that  the  female  bird  acts  in  this 
process  from  a sagacity  and  reason  of  her  own,  is  to  sup- 
pose her  to  arrive  at  conclusions  which  there  are  no  prem- 
ises to  justify.  If  our  sparrow,  sitting  upon  her  eggs, 
expect  young  sparrows  to  come  out  of  them,  she  forms,  I 
will  venture  to  say,  a wild  and  extravagant  expectation,  in 
opposition  to  present  appearances,  and  to  probability.  She 
must  have  penetrated  into  the  order  of  nature,  farther  than 
any  faculties  of  ours  will  carry  us;  and  it  hath  been  well  ob- 
served, that  this  deep  sagacity,  if  it  be  sagacity,  subsists  in 
conjunction  with  great  stupidity,  even  in  relation  to  the  same 
subject.  Achemical  operation,  ” says  Addison,  “couldnot 
be  followed  with  greater  art  or  diligence,  than  is  seen  in 
hatching  a chicken;  yet  is  the  process  carried  on  without 
the  least  glimmering  of  thought  or  common  sense.  The 
hen  will  mistake  a piece  of  chalk  for  an  egg;  is  insensible 
of  the  increase  or  diminution  of  their  number;  does  not  dis- 
tinguish between  her  own  and  those  of  another  species;  is 
frightened  when  her  supposititious  breed  of  ducklings  take 
the  water.’’ 

But  it  will  be  said,  that  what  reason  could  not  do  for 
the  bird,  observation,  or  instruction,  or  tradition,  might. 
Now,  if  it  be  true,  that  a couple  of  sparrows,  brought  up 
from  the  first  in  a state  of  separation  from  all  other  birds, 
would  build  their  nest,  and  brood  upon  their  eggs,  then 
there  is  an  end  of  this  solution.  What  can  be  the  tradi- 
tionary knowledge  of  a chicken  hatched  in  an  oven? 

Of  young  birds  taken  in  their  n^sts,  a few  species  breed 
when  kept  in  cages;  and  they  which  do  so,  build  their 
nests  nearly  in  the  same  manner  as  in  the  wild  state,  and 
sit  upon  their  eggs.  This  is  suthcient  to  prove  an  instinct, 
without  having  recourse  to  experiments  upon  birds  hatched 
by  artificial  heat,  and  deprived  from  their  birth  of  all 
communication  with  their  species;  for  we  can  hardly  bring 
ourselves  to  believe,  that  the  parent  bird  mformed  her  un- 
fledged pupil  of  the  history  of  her  gestation,  her  timely 
preparation  of  a nest,  her  exclusion  of  the  eggs,  her  long 
incubation,  and  of  the  joyful  eruption  at  last  of  her  expected 
oflspring;  all  which  the  bird  in  the  cage  must  have  learned 
in  her  infancy,  if  ve  resolve  her  conduct  into  imtiluiion 


INSTINCTS. 


173 


Unless  we  will  rather  suppose,  that  she  remembers  bei 
own  escape  from  the  egg;  had  attentively  observed  the 
conformation  of  the  nest  in  which  she  was  nurtured;  and 
had  treasured  up  her  remarks  for  future  imitation:  which 
is  not  only  extremely  improbable,  (for  who,  that  sees  a 
brood  of  clJlow  birds  in  their  nest,  can  believe  that  they 
are  taking  a plan  of  their  habitation?)  but  leaves  unac- 
counted for,  one  principal  part  of  the  difficulty,  ‘‘the  pre- 
paration of  the  nest  before  the  laying  of  the  egg,”  This 
she  could  not  gain  from  observation  in  her  infancy. 

It  is  remarkable  also,  that  the  hen  sits  upon  eggs  which 
she  has  laid  without  any  communication  with  the  male, 
and  which  are  therefore  necessarily  unfruitful;  that  secret 
she  is  not  let  into.  Yet,  if  incubation  had  been  a sub- 
iect  of  instruction  or  of  tradition,  it  should  seem  that  this 
distinction  would  have  formed  part  of  the  lesson;  whereas 
the  instinct  of  nature  is  calculated  for  a state  of  nature; 
the  exception  here  alluded  to  taking  place  chiefly,  if  not 
solely,  amongst  domesticated  fowls,  in  which  nature  is 
forced  out  of  her  course. 

There  is  another  case  of  oviparous  economy,  which  is 
still  less  likely  to  be  the  effect  of  education  than  it  is  even 
in  birds,  namely  that  of  moths  and  butterflies,  which  de- 
posit their  eggs  in  the  precise  substance,  that  of  a cabbage 
for  example,  from  which,  not  the  butterfly  herself,  but  the 
caterpillar  which  is  to  issue  from  her  egg,  draws  its  ap- 
propriate food.  The  butterfly  cannot  taste  the  cabbage. 
Cabbage  is  no  food  for  her;  yet  in  the  cabbage,  not  by 
chance,  but  studiously  and  electively,  she  lays  her  eggs. 
There  are,  amongst  many  other  kinds,  the  willow  cater- 
pillar, and  the  cabbage  caterpillar:  but  we  never  find  upon 
a willow  the  caterpillar  which  eats  the  cabbage;  nor  the  con- 
verse. This  choice,  as  appears  to  me,  cannot  in  the  butter- 
fly proceed  from  instruction.  She  had  no  teacher  in  her 
caterpillar  state.  She  never  knew  her  parent.  I do  not 
see,  therefore,  how  knowledge,  acquired  by  experience,  if 
it  ever  were  such,  could  be  transmitted  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another.  There  is  no  opportunity  either  for  instruc- 
tion or  imitation.  The  parent  race  is  gone,  before  the  new 
brood  is  hatched.  And  if  it  be  original  reasoning  in  the 
butterfly,  it  is  profound  reasoning  indeed.  She  must  re^ 
member  her  caterpillar  state,  its  tastes  and  habits;  of  which 
memory  she  shows  no  signs  whatever.  She  must  conclude 
from  analogy,  for  here  her  recollection  cannot  serve  her, 
that  the  little  round  body  which  drops  from  her  abdomen, 
wf  1 at  a future  period  produce  a living  creature,  not  like 


174 


INSTINCTS. 


herseir.  but  like  the  caterpillar,  which  she  remembers  hersell 
once  to  have  been.  Under  the  influence  of  these  reflections, 
she  goes  about  to  make  provision  for  an  order  of  things, 
which  she  concludes  will,  sometime  or  other,  take  place. 
And  it  is  to  be  observed,  that  not  a few  out  of  many,  but 
that  all  butterflies  argue  thus,  all  draw  this  conclusion;  all 
act  upon  it.* 

But  suppose  the  address,  and  the  selection,  and  the  plan, 
which  we  perceive  in  the  preparations  which  many  irra- 
tional animals  make  for  their  young,  to  be  traced  to  some 
probable  origin;  still  there  is  left  to  be  accounted  for,  that 
which  is  the  source  and  foundation  of  these  phenomena, 
that  \^hich  sets  the  whole  at  work,  the  oToQyy],  the  parent- 
al affection,  which  I contend  to  be  inexplicable  upon  any 
other  hypothesis  than  that  of  instinct. 

For  we  shall  hardly,  I imagine,  in  brutes,  refer  their 
conduct  towards  their  offspring  to  a sense  of  duty,  or  of 
decency,  a care  of  reputation,  a compliance  with  public 
manners,  with  public  laws,  or  with  rules  of  life  built  upon 
a long  experience  of  their  utility.  And  all  attempts  to  ac- 
count for  the  parental  affection  from  association,  I think, 
fail.  With  what  is  it  associated.^  Most  immediately  with 
the  throes  of  parturition,  that  is,  with  pain,  and  terror,  and 
disease.,  The  more  remote,  but  not  less  strong  association, 
that  which  depends  upon  analogy,  is  all  against  it.  Every- 
thing else,  which  proceeds  from  the  body,  is  cast  away  and 
rejected. 

In  birds,  is  it  the  egg  which  the  hen  loves?  or  is  it  the 
expectation  which  she  cherishes  of  a future  progeny,  that 
keeps  her  upon  her  nest?  What  cause  has  she  to  expect 
delight  from  her  progeny?  Can  any  rational  answer  be 
given  to  the  question,  why,  prior  to  experience,  the  brood- 
ing hen  should  look  for  pleasure  from  her  chickens?  It 
does  not,  I think,  appear,  that  the  cuckoo  ever  knows  her 

* The  dragon-fly  is  an  inhabitant  of  the  air,  and  could  not  exist  in 
water;  yet  in  this  element,  which  is  alone  adapted  for  her  young,  she 
drops  her  eggs. 

Not  less  surprising  is  the  parental  instinct  of  the  gad-fly,  {Gastero- 
philub  equi)  whose  larvae  are  destined  to  be  nourished  in  the  stomach 
and  intestines  of  the  horse!  How  shall  the  parent  convey  them  there  ? 
By  a mode  truly  extraordinary — Flying  round  the  animal  she  curiously 
poises  her  body  while  she  deposits  her  eggs  on  the  hairs  of  his  skin. 
Whenever  therefore  the  horse  chances  to  lick  the  part  of  his  body  to 
which  they  are  attached,  they  adhere  to  the  tongue,  and  from  thence  pass 
intc  the  stomach  and  intestines.  And  what  increases  our  surprise  is,  that 
the  fly  places  her  eggs  almost  exclusively  on  the  knee  and  the  shoulder, 
on  those  paits  the  horse  is  sure  to  lick. — Faxtori, 


INSTINCTS. 


175 


young;  yet,  in  her  way,  she  is  as  careful  in  making  prcvi 
sion  ?ci  them,  as  any  other  bird.  She  does  not  leave  her 
egg  in  (jvery  hole. 

The  salmon  suffers  no  surmountable  obstacle  to  oppose 
her  progress  up  the  stream  of  fresh  rivers.  And  what  does 
she  do  there?  She  sheds  a spawn,  which  she  immediately 
quits,  in  order  to  return  to  the  sea;  and  this  issue  of  her 
body  she  never  afterwards  recognises  in  any  shape  what- 
ever. Where  shall  we  find  a motive  for  her  efforts  and 
her  perseverance?  Shall  we  seek  it  in  argumentation,  or 
in  instinct?  The  violet  crab  of  Jamaica  performs  a fa- 
tiguing march  of  some  months’  continuance,  from  the 
mountains  to  the  sea-side.  When  she  reaches  the  coast, 
she  casts  her  spawn  into  the  open  sea;  and  sets  out  upon 
aer  return  home. 

Moths  and  butterflies,  as  hath  already  been  observed, 
seek  out  for  their  eggs  those  precise  situations  and  sub- 
stances, in  which  the  offspring  caterpillar  will  find  its  ap- 
propriate food.  That  dear  caterpillar  the  parent  butterfly 
must  never  see.  There  are  no  experiments  to  prove  that 
she  would  retain  any  knowledge  of  it,  if  she  did.  How 
shall  we  account  for  her  conduct  ? I do  not  mean  for  her 
art  and  judgment  in  selecting  and  securing  a maintenance 
for  her  young,  but  for  the  impulse  upon  which  she  acts 
What  should  induce  her  to  exert  any  art,  or  judgment,  or 
choice,  about  the  matter?  The  undisclosed  grub,  the  ani- 
mal which  she  is  destined  not  to  know,  can  hardly  be  the 
object  of  a particular  affection,  if  we  deny  the  influence 
of  instinct.  There  is  nothing,  therefore,  left  to  her,  but 
that  of  which  her  nature  seems  incapable,  an  abstract  anx- 
iety for  the  general  preservation  of  the  species;  a kind  of 
patriotism;  a solicitude  lest  the  butterfly  race  should  cease 
from  the  creation. 

Lastly,  the  principle  of  association  will  not  explain  the 
discontinuance  of  the  affection  when  the  young  animal 
is  grown  up.  Association,  operating  in  its  usual  way, 
would  rather  produce  a contrary  effect.  The  object  would 
become  more  necessary  by  habits  of  society:  whereas 
birds  and  beasts,  after  a certain  time,  banish  their  off- 
spring; disown  their  acquaintance;  seem  to  have  even  no 
knowledge  of  the  objects  which  so  lately  engrossed  the 
attention  of  their  minds,  and  occupied  the  industry  and 
labor  of  their  bodies.  This  change,  in  different  animals 
takes  place  at  different  distances  of  time  from  the  birth, 
but  the  time  always  corresponds  with  the  ability  of  the 
young  animal  to  maintain  itself;  never  anticipates  it.  In 


176 


INSTINCTS 


the  sparrow  tribe,  when  it  is  perceived  that  the  young 
brood  can  fly  and  shift  for  themselves,  then  the  parents 
forsake  them  forever;  and  though  they  continue  to  live 
together,  pay  them  no  more  attention  than  they  do  to  other 
birds  in  the  same  flock.*  I believe  the  same  thing  is  true 
of  all  gregarious  quadrupeds. 

In  this  part  of  the  case,  the  variety  of  resources,  expedi- 
ents, and  materials,  which  animals  of  the  same  species  are 
said  to  have  recourse  to,  under  different  circumstances,  and 
when  differently  supplied,  makes  nothing  against  the  doc- 
trine of  instincts.  The  thing  which  we  want  to  account 
for,  is  the  propensity.  The  propensity  being  there,  it  is 
probable  enough  that  it  may  put  the  animal  upon  different 
actions,  according  to  different  exigencies.  And  this  adap- 
tation of  resources  may  look  like  the  effect  of  art  and  con- 
sideration, rather  than  of  instinct;,  but  still  the  propensity  is 
instinctive.  For  instance,  suppose  what  is  related  of  the 
woodpecker  to  be  true,  that,  in  Europe,  she  deposits  her 
eggs  in  cavities,  which  she  scoops  out  in  the  trunks  of  soft 
or  decayed  trees,  and  in  which  cavities  the  eggs  lie  con- 
cealed from  the  eye,  and  in  some  sort  safe  from  the  hand 
of  man;  but  that,  in  the  forests  of  Guinea  and  the  Brazils, 
which  man  seldom  frequents,  the  same  bird  hangs  her 
nest  to  the  twigs  of  tall  trees;  thereby  placing  them  out  of 
the  reach  of  monkeys  and  snakes;  i.  e.  that  in  each  situa- 
tion she  prepares  against  the  danger  which  she  has  most 
occasion  to  apprehend:  suppose,  I say,  this  to  be  true,  and 
to  be  alleged,  on  the  part  of  the  bird  that  builds  these  nests, 
as  evidence  of  a reasoning  and  distinguishing  precaution, 
still  the  question  returns,  whence  the  propensity  to  buila 
at  all? 

Nor  does  parental  affection  accompany  generation  by  any 
universal  law  of  animal  organization,  if  such  a thing  were 
intelligible.  Some  animals  cherish  their  progeny  with  the 
most  ardent  fondness,  and  the  most  assiduous  attention; 
others  entirely  neglect  them;  and  this  distinction  always 
meets  the  constitution  of  the  young  animal,  with  respect 
to  its  wants  and  capacities.  In  many,  the  parental  care 
extends  to  the  young  animal;  in  others,  as  in  all  oviparous 
fish,  it  is  confined  to  the  egg,  and  even,  as  to  that,  to  the 
disposal  of  it  in  its  proper  element.  Also,  as  there  is 
generation  without  parental  affection,  so  is  there  parental 
instinct,  or  what  exactly  resembles  it,  without  generation 
In  the  bee  tribe,  the  grub  is  nurtured  neither  by  the  fathei 

Goldsniith’a  Nat.  Hist.  vol.  iv.  p.  244. 


INSTINCTS. 


177 


nor  the  mother,  but  by  the  neutral  bee.  Probably  the  case 
is  the  name  with  ants. 

I am  not  ignorant  of  the  theory  which  resolves  instinct 
into  sensation ; which  asserts,  that  what  appears  to  have 
a vie\^  and  relation  to  the  future,  is  the  result  onl/  of  the 
present  disposition  of  the  animal’s  body,  and  of  pleasure 
or  pain  experienced  at  the  time.  Thus  the  incubation  of 
3ggs  is  accounted  for  by  the  pleasure  which  the  bird  is 
supposed  to  receive  from  the  pressure  of  the  smooth  con- 
vex surface  of  the  shells  against  the  abdomen,  or  by  the 
relief  which  the  mild  temperature  of  the  egg  may  afford 
to  the  heat  of  the  lower  part  of  the  body,  which  is  observ- 
ed at  this  time  to  be  increased  beyond  its  usual  state.  This 
present  gratification  is  the  only  motive  with  the  hen  for 
sitting  upon  her  nest;  the  hatching  of  the  chickens,  is  with 
respect  to  her,  an  accidental  consequence.  The  affection 
of  viviparous  animals  for  their  young  is,  in  like  manner, 
solved  by  the  relief,  and  perhaps  the  pleasure,  which  they 
receive  from  giving  suck.  The  young  animal’s  seeking, 
in  so  many  instances,  the  teat  of  its  dam,  is  explained  from 
the  sense  of  smell,  which  is  attracted  by  the  odour  of 
milk.  The  salmon’s  urging  its  way  up  the  stream  of  fresh 
water  rivers,  is  attributed  to  some  gratification  or  refresh- 
ment, which,  in  this  particular  state  of  the  fish’s  body,  she 
receives  from  the  change  of  element.  Now  of  this  theory 
t may  be  said. 

First,  that  of  the  cases  which  require  solution,  there  are 
nw  to  which  it  can  be  applied  with  tolerable  probability , 
that  there  are  none  to  which  it  can  be  applied  without 
strong  objections,  furnished  by  the  circumstances  of  the 
case.  The  attention  of  the  cow  to  its  calf,  and  of  the  ewe 
to  its  lamb,  appear  to  be  prior  to  their  sucking.  The  at 
traction  of  the  calf  or  lamb  to  the  teat  of  the  dam,  is  not 
explained  by  simply  referring  it  to  the  sense  of  smell 
What  made  the  scent  of  milk  so  agreeable  to  the  lamb, 
that  it  should  follow  it  up  with  its  nose,  or  seek  with  its 
mouth  the  place  from  which  it  proceeded.^  No  observation, 
no  experience,  no  argument  could  teach  the  new  dropped 
animal,  that  the  substance  from  which  the  scent  issued, 
was  the  material  of  its  food.  It  had  never  tasted  milk  be- 
fore its  birth.  None  of  the  animals,  which  are  not  de- 
signed for  that  nourishment,  ever  ofier  to  suck,  or  to  seek 
Dut  any  such  food.  What  is  the  conclusion,  but  that  the 
sugescent  parts  of  animals  are  fitted  for  their  use,  and 
the  knowledge  of  that  use  put  into  them? 


178 


INSl  NCTS. 


We  assert,  se3)ndly,  that,  even  as  to  the  cases  in  whicr 
the  hypothesis  has  the  fairest  claim  to  consideration,  it 
does  not  at  all  lessen  the  force  of  the  argument  for  inten- 
tion and  design.  The  doctrine  of  instincts  is  that  of  ap- 
petencies, siiperaddcd  to  the  constitution  of  an  animal,  for 
the  effectuating  of  a purpose  beneficial  to  the  species.  The 
above-stated  solution  would  derive  these  appetencies  from 
organization;  but  then  this  organization  is  not  less  speci- 
fically, not  less  precisely,  and,  therefore,  not  less  evidently 
adapted  to  the  same  ends,  than  the  appetencies  themselves 
would  be  upon  the  old  hypothesis.  In  this  way  of  consid- 
ering the  subject,  sensation  supplies  the  place  of  foresight; 
but  this  is  the  effect  of  contrivance  on  the  part  of  the 
Creator.  Let  it  be  allowed,  for  example,  that  the  hen  is 
induced  to  brood  upon  her  eggs  by  the  enjoyment  or  re- 
lief which,  in  the  heated  state  of  her  abdomen,  she  ex- 
periences from  the  pressure  of  round  smooth  surfaces,  or 
from  the  application  of  a temperate  warmth.  How  comes 
this  extraordinary  heat  or  itching,  or  call  it  what  you  will, 
which  you  suppose  to  be  the  cause  of  the  bird's  inclina- 
tion, to  be  felt,  just  at  the  time  when  the  inclination  itself 
is  wanted;  when  it  tallies  so  exactly  with  the  internal 
constitution  of  the  egg,  and  with  the  help  which  that  con- 
stitution requires  in  order  to  bring  it  to  maturity  ? In  my 
opinion,  this  solution,  if  it  be  accepted  as  to  the  fact,  ought 
to  increase,  rather  than  otherwise,  our  admiration  of  the 
contrivance.  A gardener  lighting  up  his  stoves,  just  when 
he  wants  to  force  his  fruit,  and  when  his  trees  require  the 
heat,  gives  not  a more  certain  evidence  of  design.  So 
again;  when  a male  and  female  sparrow  come  together,  they 
do  not  meet  to  confer  upon  the  expediency  of  perpetuating 
their  species.  As  an  abstract  proposition,  they  care  not 
the  value  of  a barley-corn,  whether  the  species  be  perpetu- 
ated or  not:  they  follow  their  sensations;  and  all  those 
consequences  ensue,  which  the  wisest  counsels  could  have 
dictated,  which  the  most  solicitous  care  of  futurity,  which 
the  most  anxious  concern  for  the  sparrow  world  could  have 
produced.  But  how  do  these  consequences  ensue?  The 
sensations,  and  the  constitution  upon  which  they  depend, 
are  as  manifestly  directed  to  the  purpose  wliich  we  see 
fulfilled  by  them;  and  the  train  of  intermediate  effects,  as 
manifestly  laid  ana  planned  with  a view  to  that  ])urpose; 
that  is  to  say,  design  is  as  completely  evinced  by  the  phe- 
nomena, as  it  would  he^  even  il’we  suppose  the  operations 
to  begin,  or  to  be  carried  on,  from  wliat  some  will  allow  to 
he  alone  properly  called  instincts,  Oiat  is,  Irom  desires  di- 


INSTINCTS. 


179 


reeled  to  a future  end,  and  having  no  accomplishment  or 
gratification  distinct  from  the  attainment  of  that  end. 

In  a word;  I should  say  to  the  patrons  of  this  opinion, 
Be  it  so:  be  it,  that  those  actions  of  animals  which  we  re- 
fer to  instinct,  are  not  gone  about  with  any  view  to  their 
consequences,  but  that  they  are  attended  in  the  animal 
with  a present  gratification,  and  are  pursued  for  the  sake  of 
that  gratification  alone ; what  does  all  this  prove,  but  that 
the  prospection,  which  must  be  somewhere,  is  not  in  the 
animal,  but  in  the  Creator? 

In  treating  of  the  parental  affection  in  brutes,  our  busi- 
ness lies  rather  with  the  origin  of  the  principle,  than  with 
the  effects  and  expressions  of  it.  Writers  recount  these 
with  pleasure  and  admiration.  The  conduct  of  many  kinds 
of  animals  towards  their  young,  has  escaped  no  observer, 
no  historian  of  nature.  “How  will  they  caress  them,’’ 
says  Derham,  “ with  their  affectionate  notes;  lull  and  quiet 
them  with  their  tender  parental  voice ; put  food  into  their 
mouths;  cherish  and  keep  them  warm;  teach  them  to 
pick,  and  eat,  and  gather  food  for  themselves;  and,  in  a 
word,  perform  the  part  of  so  many  nurses,  deputed  by  the 
sovereign  Lord  and  Preserver  of  the  world,  to  help  such 
young  and  shiftless  creatures!”  Neither  ought  it,  under 
this  head,  to  be  forgotten,  how  much  the  instinct  costs  the 
animal  which  feels  it ; how  much  a bird,  for  example,  gives 
up,  by  sitting  upon  her  nest;  how  repugnant  it  is  to  her 
organization,  her  habits,  and  her  pleasures.  An  animal, 
formed  for  liberty,  submits  to  confinement  in  the  very  sea- 
son when  everything  invites  her  abroad:  what  is  more;  an 
animal  delighting  in  motion,  made  for  motion,  all  whose 
motions  are  so  easy  and  so  free,  hardly  a moment,  at  other 
times,  at  rest,  is,  for  many  hours  of  many  days  together, 
fixed  to  her  nest,  as  close  as  if  her  limbs  were  tied  down  by 
pins  and  wires.  For  my  part,  I never  see  a bird  in  that 
situation,  but  I recognise  an  invisible  hand,  detaining  tho 
contented  prisoner  from  her  fields  and  groves,  for  the  pur- 
pose, as  the  event  proves,  the  most  worthy  of  the  sacrifice, 
the  most  important,  the  most  beneficial. 

But  the  loss  of  liberty  is  not  the  whole  of  what  the  pro- 
creant  bird  suffers.  Harvey  tells  us,  that  he  has  oftei: 
found  the  female  wasted  to  skin  and  bone  by  sitting  upon 
her  eggs. 

One  observation  more,  and  I will  dismiss  the  subject 
The  pahing  of  birds,  and  the  non-pairing  of  beasts,  forms 
a distinction  between  the  two  classes,  which  shows  that  the 
conjugaj  instinct  is  modified  with  a reference  to  utility 


80 


OF  INSECTS. 


founded  on  the  condition  of  the  offspring.  In  quadrupeds, 
the  young  animal  draws  its  nutriment  from  the  body  of  the 
dam.  The  male  parent  neither  does,  nor  can  contribute 
any  part  to  its  sustentation.  In  the  winged  race,  the 
young  bird  is  supplied  by  an  importation  of  food,  to  procure 
i^p.d  bring  home  which,  in  a sufficient  quantity  for  the  de- 
mand of  a numerous  brood,  requires  the  industry  of  both 
parents.  In  this  difference,  we  see  a reason  for  the  vagrant 
instinct  of  the  quadruped,  and  for  the  faithful  love  of  the 
feathered  mate. 


CHAPTER  XDL 

OP  INSECTS. 

We  are  not  writing  a system  of  natural  history;  there- 
fore we  have  not  attended  to  the  classes  into  which  the 
subjects  of  that  science  are  distributed.  What  we  had  to 
observe  concerning  different  species  of  animals,  fell  easily, 
for  the  most  part,  within  the  divisions  which  the  course  of 
our  argument  led  us  to  adopt.  There  remain,  however, 
some  remarks  upon  the  insect  tribe,  which  could  not  prop- 
erly be  introduced  under  any  of  these  heads;  and  which 
therefore,  we  have  collected  into  a chapter  by  themselves. 

The  structure,  and  the  use  of  the  parts  of  insects,  are 
less  understood  than  that  of  quadrupeds  and  birds,  not  only 
by  reason  of  their  minuteness,  or  the  minuteness  of  their 
parts  (for  that  minuteness  we  can  in  some  measure  fol- 
low with  glasses,)  but  also  by  reason  of  the  remoteness  of 
their  manners  and  modes  of  life  from  those  of  larger  ani- 
mals. For  instance:  insects,  under  all  their  varieties  of 
form,  are  endowed  with  antennae,  [PL  XXXII.  fig.  2,  3.] 
which  is  the  name  given  to  those  long  feelers  that  rise 
from  each  side  of  the  head;  but  to  what  common  use  or 
want  of  the  insect  kind,  a provision  so  universal  is  subser- 
vient, has  not  yet  been  ascertained:  and  it  has  not  been 
ascertained,  because  it  admits  not  of  a clear,  or  very  pro- 
bable comparison,  with  any  organs  which  we  possess  our- 
selves, or  with  the  organs  of  animals  which  resemble  our- 
selves in  their  functions  and  faculties,  or  with  which  we  are 
better  acquainted  than  we  are  with  insects.  We  want  a 
ground  of  analogy.  This  difficulty  stands  in  our  way  as  to 
some  particulars  in  the  insect  constitution,  which  we  might 
wisli  to  be  acquainted!  with.  Nevertheless,  there  are  many 


OF  INSECTS. 


181 


contrivances  in  the  bodies  of  insects,  neither  dubious  in 
their  use,  nor  obscure  in  their  structure,  and  most  properly 
mechanical.  These  form  parts  of  our  argument. 

I.  The  dytru,  or  scaly  wings  of  the  genus  of  scarabaeus 
or  beetle,  furnish  an  example  of  this  kind.  The  true  wing 
of  the  animal  is  a light  transparent  membrane,  finer  than 
the  finest  gauze,  and  not  unlike  it.  It  is  also,  when  ex- 
panded, in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  animal,  very  large. 
In  order  to  protect  this  delicate  structure,  and  perhaps 
also  to  preserve  it  in  a due  state  of  suppleness  and  humidi- 
ty, a strong  hard  case  is  given  to  it,  in  the  shape  of  the 
horny  wing  which  we  call  the  elytron.  When  the  animal 
is  at  rest,  the  gauze  wings  lie  folded  up  under  this  impene- 
trable shield.  When  the  beetle  prepares  for  flying,  he 
raises  the  integument,  and  spreads  out  his  thin  membrane 
to  the  air.  And  it  cannot  be  observed  without  admiration, 
what  a tissue  of  cordage,  i.  e,  of  muscular  tendons,  must 
run  in  various  and  complicated,  but  determinate  directions, 
along  this  fine  surface,  in  order  to  enable  the  animal,  either 
to  gather  it  up  into  a certain  precise  form,  whenever  it 
desires  to  place  its  wings  under  the  shelter  which  na- 
ture hath  given  to  them;  or  to  expand  again  their  folds, 
when  wanted  for  action.  [PI.  XXXII.  fig.  1.] 

In  some  insects,  the  elytra  cover  the  whole  body;  in  oth 
ors,  half;  in  others,  only  a small  part  of  it;  but  in  all,  they 
completely  hide  and  cover  the  true  wings.  [PI.  XXXII 
<ig.  2.] 

Also,  many  or  most  of  the  beetle  species  lodge  in  holes  in 
the  earth,  environed  by  hard  rough  substances,  and  have 
frequently  to  squeeze  their  way  through  narrow  passages; 
in  which  situation,  wings  so  tender,  and  so  large,  could 
scarcely  have  escaped  injury,  without  both  a firm  covering 
to  defend  them,  and  the  capacity  of  collecting  themselves 
up  under  its  protection. 

II.  Another  contrivance,  equally  mechanical  and  equal- 
ly clear,  is  the  aiol  or  borer,  fixed  at  the  tails  of  various 
species  of  flies;  and  with  which  they  pierce,  in  some 
cases,  plants;  in  others,  wood;  in  others,  the  skin  and 
flesh  of  animals;  in  others,  the  coat  of  the  chrysalis  of  in- 
sects of  a different  species  from  their  own;  and  in  others, 
even  lime,  mortar,  and  stone.  I need  not  add,  that  hav- 
ing pierced  the  substance,  they  deposit  their  eggs  in  the 
hole.  The  descriptions  v/hich  naturalists  give  of  this  organ, 
are  such  as  the  following:  it  is  a sharp-pointed  instru- 
ment, which,  in  its  inactive  state,  lies  concealed  in  the 
extremity  of  the  abdomen,  and  which  the  animal  draws 

Q 


OF  INSECTS. 


k82 

out  at  pleasure,  for  the  purpose  of  making  & pun;..ture  in 
the  leaves,  stem,  or  bark,  of  the  particular  plant  which  is 
suited  to  the  nourishment  of  its  young.  In  a sheath  which 
divides  and  opens  whenever  the  organ  is  used,  there  is 
enclosed  a compact,  solid,  dentated  stem,  along  which  runs 
a gutter  or  groove,  by  which  groove,  after  the  penetration 
is  effected,  the  egg,  assisted  in  some  cases  by  a peristaltic 
motion,  passes  to  its  destined  lodgement.^  In  the  oestrus 
or  gad-fly,  the  wimble  draws  out  like  the  pieces  of  a spy- 
glass;  the  last  piece  is  armed  with  three  hooks,  and  is  able 
to  bore  through  the  hide  of  an  ox.  Can  anything  more 
be  necessary  to  display  the  mechanism,  than  to  relate  the 
fact.?  [PI.  XXXII.  fig.  3,  4.] 

III.  The  stings  of  insects,  though  for  a different  pur- 
pose, are,  in  their  structure,  not  unlike  the  piercer.  The 
sharpness  to  which  the  point  in  all  of  them  is  wrought;  the 
temper  and  firmness  of  the  substance  of  which  it  is  compos- 
ed; the  strength  of  the  muscles  by  which  it  is  darted  out, 
compared  with  the  smallness  and  weakness  of  the  insect, 
and  with  the  soft  and  friable  texture  of  the  rest  of  the  body; 
are  properties  of  the  sting  to  be  noticed,  and  not  a little  to 
be  admired.  The  sting  of  a bee  will  pierce  through  a goat- 
skin glove.  It  penetrates  the  human  flesh  more  read- 
ily than  the  finest  point  of  a needle.  The  action  of  the 
sting  affords  an  example  of  the  union  of  chemistry  and 
mechanism,  such  as,  if  it  be  not  a proof  of  contrivance, 
nothing  is.  First,  as  to  the  chemistry;  how  highly  con- 
centrated must  be  the  venom,  which,  in  so  small  a quantity, 
can  produce  such  powerful  effects!  And  in  the  bee  we 
may  observe,  that  this  venom  is  made  from  honey,  the  only 
food  of  the  insect,  but  the  last  material  from  which  I should 
have  expected  that  an  exalted  poison  could,  by  any  pro- 
cess or  digestion  whatsoever,  have  been  prepared.  Ii?  the 
next  place,  with  respect  to  the  mechanism,  the  sting  is  not 
a simple,  but  a compound  instrument.  The  visible  sting, 
though  drawn  to  a point  exquisitely  sharp,  is,  in  strictness, 
only  a sheath;  for,  near  to  the  extremity  maybe  perceived 
by  the  microscope  two  minute  orifices,  from  which  orifices, 
in  the  act  of  stinging,  and,  as  it  should  seem,  after  the  point 

* There  are  numerous  variations  in  the  structure  of  this  orjjan;  an  exam- 
ple of  the  one  jwst  mentioned  is  seen  in  the  ovipositor  of  the  buprestis, 
Fig.  9.  It  consists  of  three  long  and  sharp  laminje,  the  two  lateral  ones 
forming  a slieath  to  the  interdiediate  one,  wliich  is  the  tube  which  conveys 
the  egg.  In  some  cases  tlie  instrument  forms  a saw,  or  what  Pa  ey  here 
calls  a dentated  stem,  which  conveys  the  eggs,  as  in  the  tenthredo,  ciev^^ 
cimbex,  &c. — Paxton, 


OF  INSECTS. 


183 


of  the  mdn  sting  has  buried  itself  in  the  flesh,  are  launch- 
ed out  two  subtile  rays,  which  may  be  called  the  true  or 
proper  stings,  as  being  those  through  which  the  poison  is 
infused  into  the  puncture  already  made  by  the  exterior  sting. 

I have  said,  that  chemistry  and  mechanism  are  here  united: 
by  which  observation  I meant,  that  all  this  machinery, 
would  have  been  useless,  telum  imbelle,  if  a supply  of 
poison,  intense  in  quality,  in  proportion  to  the  smallness  of 
the  drop,  had  not  been  furnished  to  it  by  the  chemical 
elaboration  which  was  carried  on  in  the  insect^s  body;  and 
that,  on  the  other  hand,  the  poison,  the  result  of  this  pro- 
cess, could  not  have  attained  its  effect,  or  reached  its 
enemy,  if,  when  it  was  collected  at  the  extremity  of  the 
abdomen,  it  had  not  found  there  a machinery,  fitted  to  con- 
duct it  to  the  external  situations  in  which  it  was  to  operate, 
viz.  an  awl  to  bore  a hole,  and  a syringe  to  inject  the  fluid. 
Yet  these  attributes,  though  combined  in  their  action,  are 
independent  in  their  origin.  The  venom  does  not  breed 
the  sting;  nor  does  the  sting  concoct  the  venom.  [PI. 
XXXII.  fig.  5-]  . . . 

IV.  The  proboscis,  v/ith  which  many  insects  are  en- 
dowed, comes  next  in  order  to  be  considered.  [PI.  XXXII. 
fig.  6,  7,  8.]  It  is  a tube  attached  to  the  head  of  the  animal. 
In  the  bee,  it  is  composed  of  two  pieces  connected  by  a 
joint;  for  if  it  were  constantly  extended,  it  would  be  too 
much  exposed  to  accidental  injuries;  therefore,  in  its  in- 
dolent state,  it  is  doubled  up  by  means  of  the  joint,  and 
in  that  position  lies  secure  under  a scaly  penthouse.  In 
many  species  of  the  butterfly,  the  proboscis,  wh(  n not  in 
use,  is  coiled  up  like  a watch  spring.  In  the  same  bee, 
the  proboscis  serves  the  office  of  the  mouth,  the  insect 
having  no  other:  and  how  much  better  adapted  it  is,  than 
a mouth  would  be,  for  collecting  of  the  proper  nourish- 
ment of  the  animal,  is  sufficiently  evident.  The  food  of 
the  bee  is  the  nectar  of  flowers;  a drop  of  syrup,  lodged 
deep  in  the  bottom  of  the  corollm,  in  the  recesses  of  the 
petals,  or  down  the  neck  of  a monopetalous  glove.  Into 
these  cells  the  bee  thrusts  its  long  narrow  pump,  through 
the  cavity  of  which  it  sucks  up  this  precious  fluid,  inacces- 
sible to  every  other  approach.  It  is  observable  also,  that 
the  plant  is  not  the  worse  for  what  the  bee  does  to  it.  The 
harmless  plunderer  rifles  the  sweets,  but  leaves  the  flower 
uninjured.  The  ringlets  of  which  the  proboscis  of  the  bee 
is  composed,  the  muscles  by  which  it  is  extended  and 
contracted,  form  so  many  microscopical  wonders.  The 
agility  also  with  which  it  is  moved,  can  hardly  fail  to  eX' 


184 


OF  INSECTS. 


cite  admiration  But  it  it  enough  for  our  purpose  to  ob- 
serve in  general,  the  suitableness  of  the  structure  to  the 
use,  of  the  means  to  the  end,  and  especially  the  wisdom 
by  which  nature  has  departed  from  its  most  general  anal- 
ogy  (for  animals  being  furnished  with  mouths  are  such,) 
when  the  purpose  could  be  better  answered  by  the  devia- 
tion. 

In  some  insects,  the  proboscis,  or  tongue,  or  trunk,  is 
shut  up  in  a sharp-pointed  sheath,  which  sheath,  being  of 
a much  firmer  texture  than  the  proboscis  itself,  as  well  as 
sharpened  at  the  point,  pierces  the  substance  which  con- 
tains the  food,  and  then  opens  within  the  wound,  to  allow 
the  enclosed  tube,  through  which  the  juice  is  extracted,  to 
perform  its  office.  Can  any  mechanism  be  plainer  than 
this  is;  or  surpass  this? 

V.  The  metamorphosis  of  insects  from  grubs  into  moths 
and  flies,  is  an  astonishing  process.  A hairy  caterpillar 
is  transformed  into  a butterfly.  Observe  the  change.  We 
have  four  beautiful  wings,  where  there  were  none  before; 
a tubular  proboscis,  in  the  place  of  a mouth  with  jaws  and 
teeth;  six  long  legs,  instead  of  fourteen  feet.  In  another 
case,  we  see  a white,  smooth,  soft  worm,  turned  into  a 
black,  hard,  crustaceous  beetle,  with  gauze  wings.  These, 
as  I said,  are  astonishing  processes,  and  must  require,  as 
it  should  seem,  a proportionably  artificial  apparatus.  The 
hypothesis  which  appears  to  me  most  probable  is,  that,  in 
the  grub,  there  exist  at  the  same  time  three  animals,  one 
within  another,  all  nourished  by  the  same  digestion,  and 
by  a communicating  circulation;  but  in  different  stages  of 
maturity.  The  latest  discoveries  made  by  naturalists  seem 
to  favour  this  supposition.  The  insect  already  equip- 
ped with  wings,  is  descried  under  the  membranes,  both 
of  the  worm  and  nymph.  In  some  species,  the  proboscis, 
the  antennae,  the  limbs  and  wings  of  the  fly,  have  been 
observed  to  be  folded  up  within  the  body  of  the  caterpillar; 
and  with  such  nicety  as  to  occupy  a small  space  only  under 
the  two  first  wings.  This  being  so,  the  outermost  animal, 
which,  besides  its  own  proper  character,  serves  as  an  integu- 
ment to  the  other  two,  being  the  farthest  advanced,  dies, 
as  we  suppose,  and  drops  off  first.  The  second,  the  pupa 
or  chrysalis,  then  offers  itself  to  observation.  This  also, 
in  its  turn,  dies;  its  dead  and  brittle  husk  falls  to  pieces, 
and  makes  way  for  the  appearance  of  the  fly  or  moth. 
Now,  if  this  be  the  case,  or  indeed  whatever  explication 
be  adopted,  we  have  a prospective  contrivance  of  the  most 
curious  kind;  we  have  organizations  three  deep,  yet  a vas- 


OF  INSECTS. 


185 


iilar  system,  which  supplies  nutrition,  growth,  and  life,  tc 
a 1 of  them  together*. 

VI.  Almost  all  insects  are  oviparous.  Nature  keeps 
her  bu.terflies,  moths,  and  caterpillars,  locked  up  during 
the  winter  in  their  egg  state;  and  we  have  to  admire  the 
various  devices  to  which,  if  we  may  so  speak,  the  same 
nature  hath  resorted,  for  the  secAirihj  of  the  egg.  Many  ^ 
insects  enclose  their  eggs  in  a silken  web;  others  cover 
them  with  a coat  of  hair  torn  from  their  own  bodies;  some 
glue  them  together;  and  others,  like  the  moth  of  the  silk- 
worm, glue  them  to  the  leaves  upon  which  they  are  depos- 
ited, that  tb3y  may  not  be  shaken  off  by  the  wind,  or  wash- 
ed away  by  rain:  some  again  make  incisions  into  leaves, 
and  hide  an  egg  in  each  incision;  whilst  some  envelope 
their  eggs  with  a soft  substance,  which  forms  the  first  ali- 
ment of  the  young  animal:  and  some  again  make  a hole  in 
the  earth,  and  having  stored  it  with  a quantity  of  proper 
food,  deposit  their  eggs  in  it.  In  all  which  we  are  to  ob- 
serve, that  the  expedient  depends,  not  so  much  upon  the 
address  of  the  animal,  as  upon  the  physical  resources  of 
his  constitution. 

The  art  also  with  which  the  young  insect  is  coiled  up  in 
the  egg,  presents,  where  it  can  be  examined,  a subject  of 
great  curiosity.  The  insect,  furnished  with  all  the  members 
which  it  ought  to  have,  is  rolled  up  into  a form  which 
seems  to  contract  it  into  the  least  possible  space;  by  which 
contraction,  notwithstanding  the  smallness  of  the  egg,  it  has 
room  enough  in  its  apartment,  and  to  spare.  This  folding 
of  the  limbs  appears  to  me  to  indicate  a special  direction, 
for,  if  it  were  merely  the  effect  of  compression,  the  col- 
location of  the  parts  would  be  more  various  than  it  is.  In 
the  same  species,  I believe,  it  is  always  the  same. 

These  observations  belong  to  the  whole  insect  tribe,  or 
to  a great  part  of  them.  Other  observations  are  limited 
to  fewer  species;  but  not,  pf^rhaps,  less  important  or  satis- 
factory. 

1.  The  organization  in  the  abdomen  of  the  silkworm, 
or  spider,  whereby  these  insects  form  their  thread,  is  as 
incontestably  mechanical  as  a wire-drawer’s  mill.  In  the 
body  of  the  silkworm  are  two  bags,  remarkable  for  their 
form,  position,  and  use.  [PI.  XXXIII.  fig.  1.]  They  wind 
round  the  intestine;  when  drawn  out,  they  are  ten  inches 
in  length,  though  the  animal  itself  be  only  two.  Within 
these  bags  is  collected  a glue;  and  communicating  with 
the  bags,  are  two  paps  or  outlets,  perforated,  like  a giater, 
by  a n amber  of  small  holes.  The  glue  or  gum,  being  pass- 


186 


OF  INSECTS. 


ed  thro'jgh  these  minute  apertures,  form  hairs  of  almost 
imperceptible  fineness;  and  these  hairs,  when  joined,  com- 
pose the  silk  which  we  wind  off  from  the  cone,  in  which 
the  silkworm  has  wrapped  itself  up:  in  the  spider,  the  web 
is  formed  from  this  thread.  In*  both  cases,  the  extremity  of 
the  thread,  by  means  of  its  adhesive  quality,  is  first  at- 
tached by  the  animal  to  some  external  hold;  and  the  end 
being  now  fastened  to  a point,  the  insect,  by  turning  round 
its  body,  or  by  receding  from  that  point,  draws  out  tho 
thread  through  the  holes  above  described,  by  an  operation, 
as  hath  been  observed,  exactly  similar  to  the  drawing  of 
wire.  The  thread,  like  the  wire,  is  formed  by  the  hole 
hrough  which  it  passes.  In  one  respect  there  is  a dif- 
ference. The  wire  is  the  metal  unaltered,  except  in  figure. 
In  the  animal  process,  the  nature  of  the  substance  is  some- 
what changed  as  well  as  the  form;  for,  as  it  exists  within 
the  insect,  it  is  a soft  clammy  gum  or  glue.  The  thread 
acquires,  it  is  probable,  its  firmness  and  tenacity  from  the 
action  of  the  air  upon  its  surface,  in  the  moment  of  expo- 
sure; and  a thread  so  fine  is  almost  all  surface.  This 
property,  however,  of  the  paste  is  part  of  the  contrivancf^ 
[PI.  XXXIII.  fig.  2.] 

The  mechanism  itself  consists  of  the  bags  or  reservoirs 
into  which  the  glue  is  collected,  and  of  the  external  holes 
communicating  with  these  bags:  and  the  action  of  the 
machine  is  seen  in  the  forming  of  a thread,  as  wire  is  form- 
ed, by  forcing  the  material  already  prepared  through  holes 
of  proper  dimensions.  The  secretion  is  an  act  too  subtile 
for  our  discernment,  except  as  we  preceive  it  by  the  pro- 
duce. But  one  thing  answers  to  another;  the  secretory^ 
glands  to  the  quality  and  consistence  required  in  the 
secreted  substance;  the  bag  to  its  reception:  the  outlets 
and  orifices  are  constructed,  not  merely  for  relieving 
the  reservoirs  of  their  burden,  but  for  manufacturing  the 
contents  into  a form  and  texture,  of  great  external  use,  or 
rather  indeed  of  future  necessity,  to  the  life  and  functions 
of  the  insect. 

II.  Bees,  under  one  character  or  other,  have  furnished 
every  naturalist  with  a set  of  observations.  I shall  in 
this  place  confine  myself  to  one;  and  that  is,  the  relafior 
which  obtains  between  the  wax  and  the  honey.  No  per- 
son who  has  inspected  a bee-hive,  can  forbear  remarking 
how  commodiously  the  honey  is  bestowed  in  the  comb,  and 
amongst  other  advantages,  how  effectually  the  fermenta 
tion  of  the  honey  is  prevented  by  distributing  it  into  smal) 
ce  Is.  TTie  fact  is,  that  when  the  honey  is  separated  from 


OF  INSECTS. 


187 


the  comb,  and  put  into  jars,  it  runs  into  fermentation,  with 
a much  less  degree  of  heat  than  what  takes  place  in  a 
hive.  This  may  be  reckoned  a nicety;  but,  independently 
of  any  nicety  in  the  matter,  I would  ask,  what  could  the 
bee  do  with  the  honey  if  it  had  not  the  wax.'^  how,  at  least, 
could  it  store  it  up  for  winter?  The  wax,  therefore,  an- 
swers a purpose  with  respect  to  the  honey ; and  the  honey 
constitutes  that  purpose  with  respect  to  the  wax.  This  ia 
the  relation  between  them.  But  the  two  substances, 
though  together  of  the  greatest  use,  and  without  each 
other  of  little,  come  from  a different  origin.  The  bee  finds 
the  honey,  but  makes  the  wax.  The  honey  is  lodged  in 
the  nectaria  of  flowers,  and  probably  undergoes  little  alter- 
ation; is  merely  collected:  whereas  the  wax  is  a ductile,  te- 
nacious paste,  made  out  of  a dry  powder,  not  simply  by 
kneading  it  with  a liquid,  but  by  a digestive  process  in  the 
body  of  the  bee.  What  account  can  be  rendered  of  facts 
so  circumstanced,  but  that  the  animal,  being  intended  to 
feed  upon  honey,  was,  by  a peculiar  external  configuration, 
enabled  to  procure  it?  that,  moreover,  wanting  the  honey 
when  it  could  not  be  procured  at  all,  it  was  farther  endued 
with  the  no  less  necessary  faculty  of  constructing  reposi- 
tories for  its  preservation?  which  faculty,  it  is  evident,  must 
depend  primarily,  upon  the  capacity  of  providing  suitable 
materials.  Two  distinct  functions  go  to  make  up  the 
ability.  First,  the  power  in  the  bee,  with  respect  to  wax, 
of  loading  the  farina  of  flowers  upon  its  thighs.  Microsco- 
pic observers  speak  of  the  spoon-shaped  appendages  with 
which  the  thighs  of  bees  are  beset  for  this  very  purpose; 
but,  inasmuch  as  the  art  and  will  of  the  bee  may  be  sup- 
posed to  be  concerned  in  this  operation,  there  is,  secondly, 
that  which  doth  not  rest  in  art  or  will — a digestive  faculty 
which  converts  the  loose  powder  into  a stiff  substance. 
This  is  a just  account  of  the  honey  and  the  honey-comb , and 
this  account,  through  every  part,  carries  a creative  intelli- 
gence along  with  it. 

The  sting  also  of  the  bee  has  this  relation  to  the  honey, 
that  it  is  necessary  for  the  protection  of  a treasure  which 
invites  so  many  robbers. 

III.  Our  business  is  with  mechanism.  In  the  panorpa 
tribe  of  insects,  there  is  a forceps  in  the  tail  of  the  male 
insect,  with  which  he  catches  and  holds  the  female.  [PL 
XXXIII.  fig.  3.]  Are  a pair  of  pincers  more  mechanical 
than  this  provision  in  its  structure?  or  is  any  structure 
more  clear  and  certain  in  its  design? 


188 


OF  INSECTS. 


IV.  St.  Pierre  tells  us,*  that  in  a fly  with  sis.  feet,  (I 
do  not  remember  that  he  describes  the  species,)  the  pair 
next  the  head  and  the  pair  next  the  tail,  have  brushes  at 
their  extremities,  with  which  the  fly  dresses,  as  there  may 
be  occasion,  the  anterior  or  the  posterior  part  of  its  body; 
but  that  the  middle  pair  have  no  such  brushes,  the  situation 
of  these  legs  not  admitting  of  the  brushes,  if  they  were 
there,  being  converted  to  the  same  use.  This  is  a very  ex- 
act mechanical  distinction. 

V.  If  the  reader,  looking  to  our  distributions  of  science; 
wish  to  contemplate  the  chemistry,  as  well  as  the  mechan- 
ism of  nature,  the  insect  creation  will  afford  him  an  ex- 
ample. I refer  to  the  light  in  the  tail  of  a glow-worm.  Two 
points  seem  to  be  agreed  upon  by  naturalists  concerning  it: 
first,  that  it  is  phosphoric;  secondly,  that  its  use  is  to 
attract  the  male  insect.  The  only  thing  to  be  inquired 
after,  is  the  singularity,  if  any  such  there  be,  in  the  nat- 
ural history  of  this  animal,  which  should  render  a pro- 
vision of  this  kind  more  necessary  for  it  than  for  other 
insects.  That  singularity  seems  to  be  the  difference  which 
subsists  between  the  male  and  the  female ; which  difference 
is  greater  than  what  we  find  in  any  other  species  of  animal 
whatever.  The  glow-worm  is  a female  caterpillar’,  the 
male  of  which  is  a fly;  lively,  comparatively  small,  dis- 
similar to  the  female  in  appearance,  probably  also  as  distin- 
guished from  her  in  habits,  pursuits,  and  manners,  as  he 
is  unlike  in  form  and  external  constitution.  [PI.  XXXIII, 
fig.  4,  5.]  Here  then  is  the  adversity  of  the  case.  The 
caterpillar  cannot  meet  her  companion  in  the  air.  The 
winged  rover  disdains  the  ground.  They  might  nevei 
therefore  be  brought  together,  did  not  this  radiant  torch 
direct  the  volatile  mate  to  his  sedentary  female. 

In  this  example,  we  also  see  the  resources  of  art  antici- 
pated. One  grand  operation  of  chemistry  is  the  making 
of  phosphorus:  and  it  was  thought  an  ingenious  devise, 
to  make  phosphoric  matches  supply  the  place  of  lighted 
tapers.  Now  this  very  thing  is  done  in  the  body  of  the 
glow-worm.  The  phosphorus  is  not  only  made,  but  kin- 
dled; and  caused  to  emit  a steady  and  genial  beam,  for 
the  purpose  which  is  here  stated,  and  which  I believe  to 
be  the  true  one. 

VI.  Nor  is  the  last  thb  only  instance  that  entomology 
affords,  in  which  our  discoveries,  or  rather  our  projects, 
tuin  ou  to  be  imitations  of  nature.  Some  years  ago,  a 

* Vol.  i.  p.  342 


OF  INSECx’S. 


189 


plan  was  s ggested,  producing  propulsion  by  reaction  in 
this  way:  By  the  force  of  a steam-engine,  a stream  of 
water  was  to  be  shot  out  of  the  stern  of  a boat;  the  im- 
Dulse  of  which  stream  upon  the  water  in  the  river,  was  to 
Dush  the  boat  itself  forward;  it  is,  in  truth,  the  principle 
by  which  sky-rockets  ascend  in  the  air.  Of  the  use  or 
practicability  of  the  plan,  I am  not  speaking;  nor  is  it  my 
concern  to  praise  its  ingenuity:  but  it  is  certainly  a cor 
trivance.  Now,  if  naturalists  are  to  be  believed,  it  is 
exactly  the  device  which  nature  has  made  use  of,  for  the 
motion  of  some  species  of  aquatic  insects.  The  larva  of 
the  dragon-fly y according  to  Adams,  swims  by  ejecting 
water  from  its  tail ; is  driven  forward  by  the  reaction  of 
water  in  the  pool  upon  the  current  issuing  in  a direction 
backward  from  its  body.  [PI.  XXXIII.  fig.  6.] 

VII.  Again:  Europe  has  lately  been  surprised  by  the 
elevation  of  bodies  in  the  air  by  means  of  a balloon.  The 
discovery  consisted  in  finding  out  a manageable  substance, 
which  was,  bulk  for  bulk,  lighter  than  air;  and  the  appli- 
cation of  the  discovery  was,  to  make  a body  composed  of 
this  substance  bear  up,  along  with  its  own  weight,  some 
heavier  body  which  was  attached  to  it.  This  expedient, 
so  new  to  us,  proves  to  be  no  other  than  what  the  author 
of  nature  has  employed  in  the  gossamer  spider.  We  fre- 
quently see  this  spider's  thread  floating  in  the  air,  and 
extended  from  hedge  to  hedge,  across  a road  or  brook  of 
four  or  five  yards  width.  The  animal  which  forms  the 
thread  has  no  wings  wherewith  to  fly  from  one  extremity 
to  the  other  of  this  line;  nor  muscles  to  enable  it  to  spring 
or  dart  to  so  great  a distance:  yet  its  Creator  hath  laid 
for  it  a path  in  the  atmosphere;  and  after  this  manner. 
Though  the  animal  itself  be  heavier  than  air,  the  thread 
which  it  spins  from  its  bowels  is  specifically  lighter.  This 
is  its  balloon.  The  spider,  left  to  itself,  would  drop  to  the 
ground;  but  being  tied  to  its  thread,  both  are  supported. 
We  have  here  a very  peculiar  provision:  and  to  a contem- 
plative eye  it  is  a gratifying  spectacle,  to  see  this  insect  waft- 
ed on  her  thread,  sustained  by  a levity  not  her  own,  and 
traversing  regions,  which,  if  we  examined  only  the  body  of 
the  animal,  might  seem  to  have  been  forbidden  to  its  nature. 

I must  now  crave  the  reader’s  permission  to  introduce 
into  this  place,  for  want  of  a better,  an  observation  or  two 
upon  the  tribe  of  animals,  whether  belonging  to  land  or 
water,  which  are  covered  by  shells. 

I.  The  shells  of  snails  are  a wonderful,  a mechanical, 


190 


OF  INSECTS. 


and,  if  one  might  so  speak  concerning  the  works  of  nature, 
an  original  contrivance.  Other  animals  have  their  prope»: 
retreats,  their  hybernacula  also,  or  winter-quarters,  but  the 
snail  carries  these  about  with  him.  He  travels  with  his 
tent;  and  this  tent,  though,  as  was  necessary,  both  light 
and  thin,  is  completely  impervious  either  to  moisture  or  air. 
The  young  snail  comes  out  of  its  egg  with  the  shell  upon 
its  back;  and  the  gradual  enlargement  which  the  shell 
receives,  is  derived  from  the  slime  excreted  by  the  animal’s 
skin.  Now  the  aptness  of  this  excretion  to  the  purpose,  its 
property  of  hardening  into  a shell,  and  the  action,  whatever 
it  be,  of  the  animal,  whereby  it  avails  itself  of  its  gift,  and 
of  the  constitution  of  its  glands,  (to  say  nothing  of  the  work 
being  commenced  before  the  animal  is  born,)  are  things 
which  can,  with  no  probability,  be  referred  to  any  other 
cause  than  to  express  design;  and  that  not  on  the  part  of 
the  animal  alone,  in  which  design,  though  it  might  build 
the  house,  could  not  have  supplied  the  material.  The  will 
of  the  animal  could  not  determine  the  quality  of  the  ex- 
cretion. Add  to  which,  that  the  shell  of  a snail,  with  its 
pillar  and  convolution,  is  a very  artificial  fabric;  whilst  a 
snail,  as  it  should  seem,  is  the  most  numb  and  unprovided 
of  all  artificers.  In  the  midst  of  variety,  there  is  likewise 
a regularity,  which  would  hardly  be  expected.  In  the 
same  species  of  snail,  the  number  of  turns  is  usually,  if 
not  always,  the  same.  The  sealing  up  of  the  mouth  of 
the  shell  by  the  snail,  is  also  well  calculated  for  its  warmth 
and  security;  but  the  cerate  is  not  of  the  same  substance 
with  the  shell. 

II.  Much  of  what  has  been  observed  of  snails  belongs 
to  shell-fish  and  their  shells,  particularly  to  those  of  the 
univalve  kind;  with  the  addition  of  two  remarks:  one  of 
which  is  upon  the  great  strength  and  hardness  of  most  of 
these  shells.  I do  not  know  whether,  the  weight  being 
given,  art  can  produce  so  strong  a case  as  are  some  of  these 
shells.  Which  defensive  strength  suits  well  with  the  life 
of  an  animal,  that  has  often  to  sustain  the  dangers  of  a 
stormy  element,  and  a rocky  bottom,  as  well  as  the  attacks 
of  voracious  fish.  The  other  remark  is,  upon  the  property, 
in  the  animal  excretion,  not  only  of  congealing,  but  of  con- 
gealing, or,  as  a builder  would  call  it,  setting,  in  water,  and 
into  a cretaceous  substance,  firm  and  hard.  This  property 
is  much  more  extraordinary,  and,  chemically  speaking, 
more  specific,  than  that  of  hardening  in  the  air;  which 
may  be  reckoned  a kind  of  exsicce/.ion,  like  the  drying  ol 
clay  into  bricks. 


OF  INSECTS. 


191 


III.  In  the  bivalve  order  of  shell-:lsh,  cockles,  muscles, 
oysters,  Stc.  what  contrivance  can  be  so  simple  or  so  clear, 
as  the  insertion  at  the  back,  of  a tough,  tendinous  substance, 
that  becomes  at  once  the  ligament  which  binds  the  two 
shells  together,  and  the  hinge  upon  which  they  open  and 
shut. 

IV.  The  shell  of  a lobster’s  tail,  in  its  articulations  and 
overlapping,  represents  the  jointed  part  of  a coat  of  mail; 
or  rather,  which  I believe  to  be  the  truth,  a coat  of  mail  is 
an  imitation  of  a lobster’s  shell.  The  same  end  is  to  be 
answered  by  both;  the  same  properties,  therefore,  are  re- 
quired in  both,  namely,  hardness  and  flexibility,  a covering 
which  may  guard  the  part  without  obstructing  its  motion. 
For  this  double  purpose,  the  art  of  man,  expressly  exercis- 
ed upon  the  subject,  has  not  been  able  to  devise  anything 
better  than  what  nature  presents  to  his  observation.  Is  not 
this,  therefore,  mechanism,  which  the  mechanic,  having  a 
similar  purpose  in  view,  adopts } Is  the  structure  of  a coat 
of  mail  to  be  referred  to  art?  Is  the  same  structure  of  the 
lobster,  conducing  to  the  same  use,  to  be  referred  to  any- 
thing less  than  art? 

Some,  who  may  acknowledge  the  imitation,  and  assent 
to  the  inference  which  we  draw  from  it  in  the  instance  be- 
fore us,  may  be  disposed,  possibly,  to  ask,  why  such  imita- 
tions are  not  more  frequent  than  they  are,  if  it  be  true,  as 
we  allege,  that  the  same  principle  of  intelligence,  design, 
and  mechanical  contrivance,  was  exerted  in  the  formation 
of  natural  bodies,  as  we  employ  in  the  making  of  the  vari- 
ous instruments  by  which  our  purposes  are  served?  The 
answers  to  this  question  are,  first,  that  it  seldom  happens 
that  precisely  the  same  purpose,  and  no  other,  is  pursueo 
in  any  work  which  we  compare,  of  nature  and  of  art;  sec- 
ondly, that  it  still  more  seldom  happens,  that  we  can  imitate 
nature,  if  we  would.  Our  materials  and  our  workmanship 
are  equally  deficient.  Springs  and  wires,  and  cork  and 
leather,  produce  a poor  substitute  for  an  arm  or  a hand.  In 
the  example  which  we  have  selected,  I mean  a lobster’s 
shell  compared  with  a coat  of  mail,  these  difficulties  stand 
less  in  the  way,  than  in  almost  any  other  that  can  be  as- 
signed: and  the  consequence  is,  as  we  have  seen,  that  art 
gladly  borrows  from  nature  her  contrivance,  and  imitates 
it  closely. 

But  to  return  to  insects.  I think  it  is  in  this  class  of 
animals  above  all  others,  especially  when  we  take  in  the 


192 


OF  INSECTS. 


nultitude  of  species  which  the  microscope  discovers,  that 
we  are  struck  with  what  Cicero  has  called  “the  insatiable 
variety  of  nature.’’  There  are  said  to  be  six  thousand 
species  of  flies;  seven  hundred  and  sixty  butterflies;  each 
different  from  all  the  rest,  (St.  Pierre.)  The  same  writer 
tells  us,  from  his  own  observation,  that  thirty-seven  species 
of  winged  insects,  with  distinctions  well  expressed,  visited 
a single  strawberry  plant  in  the  course  of  three  weeks.* 
Ray  observed,  within  the  compass  of  a mile  or  two  of  his 
own  house,  two  hundred  kinds  of  butterflies,  noctural  and 
diurnal.  He  likewise  asserts,  but  I think  without  any 
grounds  of  exact  computation,  that  the  number  of  species 
of  insects,  reckoning  all  sorts  of  them,  may  not  be  short 
of  ten  thousand.t  And  in  this  vast  variety  of  animal  forms 
(for  the  observation  is  not  confined  to  insects,  though  more 
applicable  perhaps  to  them  than  to  any  other  class)  we  are 
sometimes  led  to  take  notice  of  the  different  methods,  or 
rather  of  the  studiously  diversified  methods,  by  which 
one  and  the  same  purpose  is  attained.  In  the  article  of 
breathing,  for  example,  which  was  to  be  provided  for  in 
some  way  or  other,  besides  the  ordinary  varieties  of  lungs, 
gills,  and  breathing-holes  (for  insects  in  general  respire, 
not  by  the  mouth,  [PI.  XXXIII.  fig.  7,]  but  through  holes 
in  the  sides,)  the  nymphae  of  gnats  have  an  apparatus  to 
raise  their  backs  to  the  top  of  the  water,  and  so  take  breath 
[PI.  XXXIII.  fig.  8.]  The  hydrocanthari  do  the  like  by 
thrusting  their  tails  out  of  the  water.  J The  maggot  of  the 
eruca  labra  [PI.  XXXIII.  fig.  9,]  has  a long  tail,  one  part 
sheathed  within  another,  (but  which  it  can  draw  out  at 
pleasure,)  with  a starry  tufl  at  the  end,  by  which  tnft, 
when  expanded  upon  the  surface,  the  insect  both  supports 
itself  in  the  water,  and  draws  in  the  air  which  is  necessary. 
In  the  article  of  natural  clothing,  we  have  the  skins  of  ani- 
mals invested  with  scales,  hair,  feathers,  mucus,  froth;  or 
itself  turned  into  a shell  or  crust:  in  the  no  less  necessary 
article  of  offence  and  defence,  we  have  teeth,  talons,  beaks, 
horns,  stings,  prickles,  with  (the  most  singular  expedient 
for  the  same  purpose)  the  power  of  giving  the  electric 

*Vol.i.  p.  3. 

t Wisdom  of  God,  p.  23.  The  number  of  species  of  insects  known 
to  entomologists,  and  preserved  in  cabinets,  is  at  present  not  less  than 
forty  thousand.  This  number,  however,  must  probably  form  a small 
proportion  of  the  whole  number  which  exist  upon  the  earth. — See  Kirly 
and  Spence's  Entomology. — Ed. 

t Dei  ham,  p.  7 


OF  PLANTS. 


193 


shock, and,  as  is  credibly  related  of  some  animals,  of 
driving  away  their  pursuers  by  an  intolerable  fostor,  or  of 
blackening  the  water  through  which  they  are  pursued. f 
The  consideration  of  these  appearances  might  induce  us  to 
believe,  that  varietxj  itself,  distinct  from  every  other  reason, 
was  a motive  in  the  mind  of  the  Creator,  or  with  the 
agents  of  his  will. 

To  this  great  variety  in  organized  life,  the  Deity  has 
given,  or  perhaps  there  arises  out  of  it,  a corresponding 
variety  of  anima^.  appeiiles.  For  the  final  cause  of  this 
we  have  not  far  to  seek.  Did  all  animals  covet  the  same 
element,  retreat,  or  food,  it  is  evident  how  much  fewer 
could  be  supplied  and  accommodated,  than  what  at  present 
live  conveniently  together,  and  find  a plentiful  subsistence. 
What  one  nature  rejects,  another  delights  in.  Food  which 
is  nauseous  to  one  tribe  of  animals,  becomes,  by  that  very 
property  which  makes  it  nauseous,  an  alluring  dainty  to 
another  tribe.  Carrion  is  a treat  to  dogs,  ravens,  vultures, 
fish.  The  exhalations  of  corrupted  substances  attract  flies 
by  crowds.  Maggots  revel  in  putrefaction. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

OF  PLANTS. 

I THINK  a designed  and  studied  mechanism  to  be,  in 
general,  more  evident  in  animals  than  in  plants;  and  it  is 
unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  a weaker  argument,  where  a 

The  raja  torpedo y gy?nnotus  electricus,  and  some  other  fish,  have 
a curious  apparatus  of  nerves,  which  in  its  effects  may  be  compared 
to  an  electrical  battery.  In  the  first  named  fish,  the  electrical  organs 
are  situated  between  the  head  and  the  pectoral  fins.  When  the  integu- 
ments are  raised  the  organ  appears,  consisting  of  some  hundred  pentagonal 
and  hexagonal  cells,  filled  with  a glairy  fluid.  Minute  blood-vessels  arc 
dispersed  over  it,  and  its  nerves  are  of  extraordinary  size.  When  the 
hand  is  applied  to  the  electrical  organs,  a benumbing  effect  is  instantly  felt 
in  the  fingers  and  the  arm.  When  caught  in  a net,  it  has  been  known  to 
give  a violent  shock  to  the  hands  of  the  fisherman  who  ventures  to  seize 
it.  Phil,  Trans,  1816,  p.  120.  Ibid.  1817,  p.  32. — Paxton, 

t The  several  species  of  sepice  or  cuttle  fish  have  this  faculty. 
They  possess  a bag  situated  on,  or  near  the  liver,  called  the  ink-bagy 
from  its  containing  a black  fluid,  the  contents  of  which  are  discharged 
by  a muscular  sheath  compressing  the  body  of  the  animal.  By  this 
singular  evacuation  the  creature  renders  the  surrounding  element  so  black 
and  bitter,  when  in  danger  of  being  attacked,  that  an  enemy  will  not 
pursue  it. — Ib, 

R 


J94 


OF  PLAJqiS. 


stroDger  is  at  hand.  There  are,  however,  c fe^r  observa- 
tions upon  the  vegetable  kingdom,  which  lie  bo  directly  in 
our  way,  that  it  would  be  improper  to  pass  by  them  with- 
out notice. 

The  one  great  intention  of  nature  in  the  structure  of 
plants,  seems  to  be  the  perfecting  of  the  seed;  and,  what 
is  part  of  the  same  intention,  the  prese.  ving  of  it  until  it 
be  perfected.  This  intention  shows  itself,  in  the  first  place, 
by  the  care  which  appears  to  be  taken,  to  protect  and  ripen, 
by  every  advantage  which  can  be  given  to  them  of  situa- 
tion in  the  plant,  those  parts  which  most  immediately  con- 
tribute to  fructification,  viz.  the  antherre,  the  stamina,  ar  i 
the  stigmata.  These  parts  are  usually  lodged  in  the  cen- 
tre, the  recesses,  or  the  labyrinths  of  the  flower;  during 
their  tender  and  immature  state,  are  shut  up  in  the  stalk, 
or  sheltered  in  the  bud:  as  soon  as  they  have  acquired 
firmness  of  texture  sufficient  to  bear  exposure,  and  are 
ready  to  perform  the  important  office  which  is  assigned  to 
them,  they  are  disclosed  to  the  light  and  air,  by  the  burst- 
ing of  the  stem,  or  the  expansion  of  the  petals;  after  which, 
they  have,  in  many  cases,  by  tbe  very  form  of  the  ffowei 
during  its  blow,  the  light  and  warmth  reflected  upon  them 
from  the  concave  side  of  the  cup.  What  is  called  also  the 
sleep  * of  plants,  is  the  leaves  or  petals  disposing  themselves 

* “ The  periodical  change  in  the  direction  of  leaves,  which  has  been 
called  the  ‘Sleep  of  Plants,’  is  undeniably  connected  with  the  stimulating 
operation  of  light.  It  is  established,  that  during  the  clear  light  of  the 
sun,  the  leaves  become  erect,  and  move  their  upper  surface  to  the  light, 
whilst,  on  the  contrary,  during  the  absence  of  light,  they  either  hang 
downwards,  and  turn  to  the  horizon,  or  they  take  an  upright  position,  so 
that  the  under  surface  of  the  leaves  isjurned  more  outward.  On  account 
of  this  particular  position  of  what  has  been  called  ‘ Sleeping  Plants,’  we 
cainot  properly  ascribe  this  direction  to  sleep,  because  the  leaves  do 
sometimes  even  raise  themselves  during  this  state  with  greater  energy, 
and  press  upon  the  stem  or  leaf-stalk,  for  the  j)urpose  of  turning  fbeij 
lower  surface  outwards.  This  change  is  much  rather,  therefore,  the  con 
sequence  of  the  contest  between  the  activity  of  the  plant,  and  the  grea 
activity  of  nature.  This  change  is  the  more  evident,  and  the  sleep  oi 
leaves  the  more  striking,  the  finer  and  more  compounded  the  organiza 
lion  of  the  leaves  are.  VVe  hence  most  frequently  observe  it  in  the  pin 
nated  leaves  of  leguminous  plants,  although  also  in  some  others,  is  ic 
atriplex. 

That  an  internal  and  self-dependent  activity  is  to  be  taken  into  ac- 
count in  this  sleep  of  plants,  is  plain  from  the  fact  that  this  sleep  does 
not  equally  follow  from  a short  withdrawing  of  the  I ght,  but  only  frean 
its  complete  and  long-continued  removal;  as  also  from  this  other  cir- 
eamstance,  that  leaves  fall  asleep  or  awake  at  fixed  liours,  whether 
the  sky  be  serene  or  troubled,  exactly  as  happens  with  regard  to  ani- 
mals. Other  stiniulu,  too,  and  especially  heat,  have  a groat  influence 


OF  PLANTS. 


195 


in  such  a manner  as  to  shelter  the  young  stems,  buds,  or 
fruit.  They  turn  up,  or  they  fall  down,  according  as  this 
purpose  renders  either  change  or  position  requisite.  In 
the  growth  of  corn,  whenever  the  plant  begins  to  shoot,  the 
Iwo  upper  leaves  of  the  stalk  join  together,  embrace  the 
ear,  and  protect  it  till  the  pulp  has  acquired  a certain  de- 
gree of  consistency.  In  some  water  plants,  the  flowering 
and  fecundation  are  carried  on  within  the  stem,  which  af- 
terwards opens  to  let  loose  the  impregnated  seed.*  The 
pea  or  papilionaceous  tribe,  enclose  the  parts  of  fructifi- 
cation within  a beautiful  folding  of  the  internal  blossom, 
sometimes  called,  from  its  shape,  the  boat  or  keel;  itself 
also  protected  under  a penthouse  formed  by  the  external 
petals..  This  structure  is  very  artificial;  and  what  adds  to 
the  value  of  it,  though  it  may  diminish  the  curiosity,  very 
general.  It  has  also  this  farther  advantage,  (and  it  is  an 
advantage  strictly  mechanical,)  that  all  the  blossoms  turn 
their  backs  to  the  wind,  whenever  the  gale  blows  strong 
enough  to  endanger  the  delicate  parts  upon  which  the  seed 
depends.  I have  observed  this  a hundred  times  in  a field 
of  peas  in  blossom.  It  is  an  aptitude  which  results  from 
the  figure  of  the  flower,  and,  as  we  have  said,  is  strictly 
mechanical;  as  much  so  as  the  turning  of  a weather-board 
or  tin  cap  upon  the  top  of  a chimney.  Of  the  poppij^  and 
of  many  ^milar  species  of  flowers,  the  head,  while  it  is 
growing,  hangs  down,  a rigid  curvature  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  stem  giving  to  it  that  position ; and  in  that  position 
it  is  impenetrable  by  rain  or  moisture.  When  the  head 
has  acquired  its  size,  and  is  ready  to  open,  the  stalk  erects 
itself,  for  the  purpose,  as  it  should  seem,  of  presenting  the 
flower,  and  with  the  flower,  the  instruments  of  fructifica- 
tion, to  the  genial  influence  of  the  sun’s  rays.  This  al- 
ways struck  me  as  a curious  property ; and  speciffcally  as 
well  as  originally,  provided  for  in  the  constitution  of  the 
plant,  for,  if  the  stem  be  only  bent  by  the  weight  of  the 
head,  how  comes  it  to  straighten  itself  when  the  head  is 
the  heaviest.^  These  instances  show  the  attention  of  na- 
ture to  this  principal  object,  the  safety  and  maturation  of 
the  parts  upon  which  the  seed  depends. 

In  trees,  especially  in  those  which  are  natives  of  colder 
climates,  this  point  is  taken  up  earlier.  Many  of  these  trees 
(observe  in  particular  the  ash  and  the  horse-chestnut)  pro- 

npon  this  phenomenon,  because,  in  the  cold,  leaves  awaken  later,  and 
fall  more  easily  asleep,  notwithstanding  the  influence  of  light.”  Vida 
Elements  of  the  Philosophy  of  Plants  by  Decandolle. — Paxton* 

* Phil.  Trans,  par;  ii.  1796;  p.  502 


196 


OF  PLANTS. 


duce  the  embryos  of  the  leaves  and  flowers  in  one  year, 
and  bring  them  to  perfection  the  following.  There  is  a 
winter  therefore  to  be  gotten  over.  Now  what  we  are  to  re- 
mark is,  how  nature  has  prepared  for  the  trials  and  sever- 
ities of  that  season.  These  tender  embryos  are,  in  the 
first  place,  wrapped  up  with  a compactness  which  no  art 
can  imitate;  in  which  state  they  compose  what  we  call  the 
bud  This  is  not  all.  The  bud  itself  is  enclosed  in  scales; 
which  scales  are  formed  from  the  remains  of  past  leaves, 
and  the  rudiments  of  future  ones.  Neither  is  this  the 
whole.  In  the  boldest  climates  a third  preservative  is  ad- 
ded, by  the  bud  having  a coat  of  gum  or  resin,  which,  being 
congealed,  resists  the  strongest  frosts.  On  the  approach 
of  warm  weather,  thi:^  gum  is  softened,  and  ceases  to  be  a 
hinderance  to  the  expansion* of  the  leaves  and  flowers.  All 
this  care  is  part  of  that  systefn  of  provisions,  which  has  for 
its  object  and  consummation  the  production  and  perfecting 
of  the  seeds. 

The  SEEDS  themselves  are  packed  up  in  a capsule^  a 
vessel  composed  of  coats,  [PI.  XXXIV.  fig.  1 ,]  which, 
compared  with  the  rest  of  the  flower,  are  strong  and  tough. 
From  this  vessel  projects  a tube,  through  which  tube  the 
farina,  or  some  subtile  fecundating  effluvium  that  issues 
from  it,  is  admitted  to  the  seed.  And  here  also  occurs  a 
mechanical  variety,  accommodated  to  the  different  circum- 
stances under  which  the  same  purpose  is  to  be  accomplish- 
ed. In  flowers  which  are  erect,  the  pistil  is  shorter  than 
the  stamina;  [PI.  XXXIV.  fig.  2,]  and  the  pollen,  shed 
from  the  anthcrse  into  the  cup  of  the  flower,  is  caught  in 
its  descent  by  the  head  of  the  pistil,  called  the  stigma.  But 
how  is  this  managed  when  the  flowers  hang  down,  (as 
does  the  crown  imperial,  for  instance,)  and  in  which  posi- 
tion the  farina,  in  its  fall,  would  be  carried  from  the  stig- 
ma, and  not  towards  it.^  The  relative  length  of  the  parts 
is  now  inverted.  The  pistil  in  these  flowers  is  usually 
longer  instead  of  shorter  than  the  stamina,  [PI.  XXXIV. 
fig.  3,]  tliat  its  protruding  summit  may  receive  the  pollen 
as  it  drops  to  the  ground.  In  some  cases  (as  in  the  n\geU 
la,)  [PI.  XXXIV.  fig.  4,]  where  the  shafts  of  the  pistils 
or  styles  are  disproportionably  long,  they  bend  down  their 
extremities  upon  the  antheree,  that  the  necessary  approxi 
mation  may  be  effected.* 

* Amongst  the  various  means  whicli  nature  has  provided  for  the  pur- 
pose of  assisting  the  impregnation  of  plants,  that  atlbrded  by  the  agency 
of  insec ‘a  is  not  on  3 of  the  least.  In  the  spring  and  summer  month 


OF  PLANTS. 


197 


But  (to  pursue  this  great  work  in  its  progress)  the  im- 
pregnation, to  which  all  this  machinery  relates,  being  com- 
pleted, the  other  parts  of  the  flower  fade  and  drop  off,  whilst 
the  gravid  seed-vessel,  on  the  contrary,  proceeds  to  increase 
its  bulk,  always  to  a great,  and  in  some  species  (in  the 
^ourd,  for  example,  and  melon,)  to  a surprising  compara- 
tive size;  assuming  in  different  plants  an  incalculable  va- 
riety of  forms,  but  all  evidently  conducing  to  the  security 
of  the  seed.  By  virtue  of  this  process,  so  necessary  but 
so  diversified,  we  have  the  seed  at  length,  in  stone-fruits 

numerous  species  of  these  lively  little  beings  may  be  seen  in  almost 
every  expanded  flower;  and  whether  they  are  in  search  of  honey,  which 
is  contained  in  the  nectaries  of  many  flowers,  or  whatever  may  be  the 
object  of  their  attraction,  by  being  continually  on  the  move,  they,  no 
doubt,  further  the  dispersion  of  the  pollen,  and  thus,  in  a great  measure, 
contribute  to  the  fertility  of  the  plants  they  visit. 

In  many  plants,  as  those  which  belong  to  the  Linnaean  class  dicecia, 
where  the  stamens  and  pistils  are  in  separate  flowers,  and  those  flowers 
situated  on  two  separate  plants  of  the  same  species,  the  operation  of 
insects,  or  the  efficacy  of  winds,  is  indispensably  necessary  to  the  per- 
fecting the  fruit,  by  transporting  the  pollen  of  the  one  to  the  stigma  of 
the  other. 

Some  plants,  indeed,  that  have  perfect,  or  united  flowers,  have  the 
anthers  so  situated  that  it  is  almost  impossible  the  pollen  can,  of  itself, 
reach  the  stigma;  in  this  case  insects  generally  become  the  auxiliaries 
to  the  fertilization  of  the  seed.  An  instance  of  this  may  be  seen  in  the 
aristolochia  clematitis.  “According  to  Professor  Willdenow,  the  flow- 
er of  this  plant  is  so  formed,  that  the  anthers  of  themselves  cannot  im- 
pregnate the  stigma;  but  this  important  affair  is  devolved  upon  a par- 
ticular species  of  tipula,  ( T,  'pennicornis. ) The  throat  of  the  flower 
is  lined  with  dense  hair,  pointing  downward  so  as  to  form  a kind  of  fun- 
nel, or  entrance  like  that  of  some  kinds  of  mouse-traps,  through  which 
the  insects  may  easily  enter  but  not  return:  several  creep  in,  and,  un- 
easy at  their  confinement,  are  constantly  moving  to  and  fro,  and  so  de- 
posit the  pollen  upon  the  stigma:  but  when  the  work  intrusted  to  them  is 
completed,  and  impregnation  has  taken  place,  the  hair  which  prevented 
dheir  escape  shrinks,  and  adheres  closely  to  the  sides  of  the  flower,  and 
these  little  go-betweens  of  Flora  at  length  leave  their  prison.  A writer, 
however,  in  the  Annual  Medical  Review  (ii.  400,)  doubts  the  accuracy  of 
this  fact,  on  the  ground  that  he  could  never  find  T.  pennicornis,  though 
Ji.  clematitis  has  produced  fruit  two  years  at  Brompton.”  Introduc- 
tion to  Entomology,  hy  Kirhy  and  Spence,  vol.  i.  p.  298. 

That  the  tipula  pennicornis  does  enter  the  flowers  of  aristolochia 
clematitis,  as  recorded  by  Professor  Willdenow,  I can  confidently  af- 
firm, from  having  observed  them  in  great  plenty  in  the  inflated  base  of 
the  corolla  every  year,  for  these  last  fifteen  years,  in  the  Oxford  Botanic 
Garden,  where  the  plant  generally  forms  fruit.  The  first  time  I found 
this  insect  in  the  flowers  of  the  above  species  of  aristolochia,  was  on 
the  12th  of  July,  1812,  at  Godstow,  near  Oxford,  where  the  plant  was 
then  growing  in  a wild  state  near  the  ruins  of  the  nunnery. 

For  the  ab^ve  observations  the  editor  is  indebted  to  an  exei.^eni  coi- 
anist,  Mr  W.  Baxter.- 


198 


OF  PLANTS 


and  nuts,  incased  in  a strong  shell,  the  shell  itself  enclosed 
in  a pulp  or  husk,  by  Avhich  the  seed  within  is,  or  hath 
been,  fed;  or,  more  generally,  (as  in  grapes,  oranges,  and 
the  numerous  kinds  of  berries,)  plunged  over  head  in  a 
glutinous  sirup,  contained  within  a sldn  or  bladder:  at 
other  times  (as  in  apples  and  pears)  embedded  in  the  heart 
of  a firm  fleshy  substance;  or  (as  in  strawberries)  piicked 
into  the  surface  of  a soft  pulp. 

These  and  many  other  varieties  exist  in  what  we  call 
fruits.^  In  pulse,  and  grain,  and  grasses;  in  trees,  aiiid 
shrubs,  and  flowers;  the  variety  of  the  seed-vessels  is  in- 
computable. We  have  the  seeds  (as  in  the  pea  tribe)  reg- 
ularly disposed  in  parchment  pods,  which,  though  soft  and 
membranous,  completely  exclude  the  wet,  even  in  the 
heaviest  rains!  the  pod  also,  not  seldom  (as  in  the  bean) 
lined  with  a fine  down;  at  other  times  (as  in  the  senna) 
distended  like  a blown  bladder:  or  we  have  the  seed 
enveloped  in  wool  (as  in  the  cotton  plant,)  lodged  (as  in 
pines)  between  the  hard  and  compact  scales  of  a cone,  or 
barricadoed  (as  in  the  artichoke  and  thistle)  with  spikes 

* From  the  conformation  of  fruits  alone,  one  might  be  led,  even  with- 
out experience,  lo  suppose,  that  part  of  this  provision  w’as  destined  for 
ibe  utilities  of  animals.  As  limited  to  the  plant,  the  provision  itself 
seems  to  go  beyond  its  object.  The  flesh  of  an  apple,  the  pulp  of  an 
orange,  the  meat  of  a plum,  the  fatness  of  the  olive,  appear  to  be  7nore 
than  sufficient  for  the  nourishing  of  the  seed  or  kernel.  The  event  shows, 
that  this  redundancy,  if  it  be  one,  ministers  to  the  support  and  gratifica- 
tion of  animal  natures ; and  when  we  observe  a provision  to  be  more 
than  sufficient  for  one  purpose,  yet  wanted  for  another  purpose,  it  is  not 
unfair  to  conclude,  that  both  purposes  were  contemplated  together.  It 
favors  this  view  of  the  subject  to  remark,  that  fruits  are  not.  (which 
they  might  have  been)  ready  altogether,  but  that  they  ripen  in  succes- 
sion throughout  a great  part  of  the  year;  some  in  summer;  some  in  au- 
tumn: that  some  require  the  slow  maturation  of  the  winter,  and  supnly 
the  spring;  also  that  the  coldest  fruits  grow  in  the  hottest  places.  Cu- 
cumbers, pine-apples,  melons,  are  the  natural  produce  of  warm  climates, 
and  contribute  greatly,  by  their  coolness,  to  the  refreshment  of  the  inha- 
bitants of  those  countries. 

**  The  eatable  part  of  the  cherry  or  peach  first  serves  the  purposes  of 
perfecting  the  seed  or  kernel,  by  means  of  vessels  passing  through  the 
stone,  and  which  are  very  visible  in  a peach-stone.  After  the  kernel  is 
perfected,  the  stone  becomes  hard,  and  the  vessels  cease  their  functions. 
But  the  substance  surrounding  the  stone  is  not  then  thrown  away  as  use- 
less. That  which  was  before  only  an  instrument  for  perfecting  the  ker- 
nel now  receives  and  retains  to  itself  the  whole  of  the  sun’s  influence, 
and  thereby  becomes  a grateful  food  to  man.  Also,  what  an  evident 
mark  of  design  is  the  stone  ])rotecting  the  kernel  ! The  intervention  of 
the  stone  prevents  the  second  use  liuin  interfering  with  the  first.” 

Paxtm/u 


OF  PLANTS. 


199 


and  prickles;  in  mushrooms,  placed  under  a penthouse;  in 
ferns,  within  slits  in  the  back  part  of  the  leaf;  or  (which  is 
the  most  general  organization  of  all)  we  find  them  covered 
by  strong,  close  tunicles,  and  attached  to  the  stem  accord- 
ing to  an  order  appropriated  to  each  plant,  as  is  seen  in 
the  several  kinds  of  grain,  and  of  grasses. 

In  which  enumeration,  what  we  have  first  to  notice  is, 
unity  of  purpose  under  variety  of  expedients.  Nothing 
can  be  more  single  than  the  design;  more  diversified  than 
the  means.  Pellicles,  shells,  pulps,  pods,  husks,  skin, 
scales,  armed  with  thorns,  are  all  employed  in  prosecuting 
the  same  intention.  Secondly;  we  may  observe,  that,  in 
all  these  cases,  the  purpose  is  fulfilled  within  a just  and 
limited  degree.  We  can  perceive,  that  ifthe  seeds  of  plants 
were  more  strongly  guarded  than  they  are,  their  greater 
security  would  interfere  with  other  uses.  Many  species 
of  animals  would  suffer,  and  many  perish,  if  they  could 
not  obtain  access  to  them.  The  plant  would  overrun  the 
soil;  or  the  seed  be  wasted  for  want  of  room  to  sow  itself. 
It  is  sometimes  as  necessary  to  destroy  particular  species 
of  plants,  as  it  is  at  other  times  to  encourage  their  growth. 
Here,  as  in  many  cases,  a balance  is  to  be  maintained  be- 
tween opposite  uses.  The  provisions  for  the  preservation 
of  seeds  appear  to  be  directed,  chiefly,  against  the  incon- 
stancy of  the  elements,  or  the  sweeping  destruction  of 
inclement  seasons.  The  depredation  of  animals,  and  the 
injuries  of  accidental  violence,  are  allowed  for  in  the  abun- 
dance of  the  increase.  The  result  is,  that  out  of  the  many 
thousand  different  plants  which  cover  the  earth,  not  a sin- 
gle species,  perhaps,  has  been  lost  since  the  creation. 

When  nature  has  perfected  her  seeds,  her  next  care  is 
to  disperse  them.  The  seed  cannot  answer  its  purpose 
while  it  remains  confined  in  the  capsule.  After  the  seeds 
therefore  are  ripened,  the  pericarpium  opens  to  let  them 
out:  and  the  opening  is  not  like  an  accidental  ^irsting, 
but,  for  the  most  part,  is  according  to  a certain  rule  in  each 
plant.  What  I have  always  thought  very  extraordinary; 
nuts  and  shells,  which  we  can  hardly  crack  with  our  teeth, 
divide  and  make  way  for  the  little  tender  sprout  which  pro- 
ceeds from  the  kernel.  Handling  the  nut,  I could  hardly 
conceive  how  the  plantule  was  ever  to  get  out  of  it  There 
are  cases,  it  is  said,  in  which  the  seed-vessel,  by  an  elastic 
jerk  at  the  moment  of  its  explosion,  casts  the  seed  to  a 
distance.  We  all  however  know,  that  many  seeds  (those 
of  the  most  composite  flowers,  as  of  the  thistle,  dandelion, 
&c.)  are  endowed  with  what  are  not  improperly  called  icings ^ 


200 


OF  PLANTS. 


that  is,  downy  appendages,  by  which  they  are  enabled  tc 
float  in  the  air,  and  are  carried  oftentimes  by  the  wind  to 
great  distances  from  tlie  plant  which  produces  them.  It 
is  the  swelling  also  of  this  downy  tuft  within  the  seed-vessel, 
that  seems  to  overcome  the  resistance  of  its  coats,  and  to 
open  a passage  for  the  seed  to  escape. 

But  the  constitution  of  seeds  is  still  more  admirable  than 
either  their  preservation  or  their  dispersion.  In  the  body 
of  the  seed  of  every  species  of  plant,  or  nearly  of  every  one, 
provision  is  made  for  two  grand  purposes;  first,  for  the 
safety  of  the  germ;  secondly,  for  the  temporary  support  of 
the  future  plant.  The  sprout,  as  folded  up  in  the  seed,  is 
delicate  and  brittle  beyond  any  other  substance.  It  can- 
not be  touched  without  being  broken.  Yet,  in  beans,  peas, 
grass-seeds,  grain,  fruits,  it  is  so  fenced  on  all  sides,  so 
shut  up  and  protected,  that,  whilst  the  seed  itself  is  rudely 
handled,  tossed  into  sacks,  shovelled  into  heaps,  the  sacred 
particle,  the  miniature  plant,  remains  unhurt.  It  is  won- 
derful also,  how  long  many  kinds  of  seeds,  by  the  help 
of  their  integuments,  and  perhaps  of  their  oils,  stand  out 
against  decay.  A grain  of  mustard  seed  has  been  known 
to  lie  in  the  earth  for  a hundred  years;  and,  as  soon  as  it 
hath  acquired  a favorable  situation,  to  shoot  as  vigorously 
as  if  just  gathered  from  the  plant.  Then,  as  to  the  second 
point,  the  temporary  support  of  the  future  plant,  the  matter 
stands  thus.  In  grain,  and  pulse,  and  kernels,  and  pippins, 
the  germ  composes  a very  small  part  of  the  seed.  The 
rest  consists  of  a nutritious  substance,  from  which  the 
sprout  draws  its  aliment  for  some  considerable  time  after 
it  is  put  forth;  viz.  until  the  fibres,  shot  out  from  the  other 
end  of  the  seed,  are  able  to  imbibe  juices  from  the  earth, 
in  a sufficient  quantity  for  its  demand.  It  is  owing  to  this 
constitution,  that  we  see  seeds  sprout,  and  the  sprouts 
make  a considerable  progress  without  any  earth  at  all.  It 
is  an  eepnomy  also,  in  which  we  remark  a close  analogy 
between  the  seeds  of  plants,  and  the  eggs  of  animals.  The 
same  point  is  provided  for,  in  the  same  manner,  in  both. 
In  the  egg,  the  residence  of  the  living  principle,  the  cica- 
trix, forms  a very  minute  part  of  the  contents.  The  white, 
and  the  white  only,  is  expended  in  the  formation  of  the 
chicken.  The  yolk,  very  little  altered,  or  diminished,  is 
wrapped  up  in  the  abdomen  of  the  young  bird  when  it 
quits  the  shell,  and  serves  for  its  nourishment,  till  it  have 
learned  to  pick  its  own  food.  This  perfectly  resembles  the 
first  nutrition  of  a plant.  In  the  plant,  as  well  as  in  the 
animal,  tlir  structure  has  every  chaiacter  of  contrivance 


OF  PLANTS. 


1201 


belonging  to  if.:  in  both,  it  breaks  the  transition  from  pre- 
pared to  unpre  Dared  aliment ; in  both,  it  is  prospective  and 
' compensatory.  In  animals  which  suck,  this  intermediate 
nourishment  is  supplied  by  a different  source 

In  all  subjects,  the  most  common  observations  are  the 
best,  when  it  is  their  truth  and  strength  which  have  made 
them  common.  There  are,  of  this  sort,  two  concerning 
plants,  which  it  falls  within  our  plan  to  notice.  The  first 
relates  to  what  has  already  been  touched  upon,  their  ger- 
mination. When  a grain  of  corn  is  cast  into  the  ground, 
this  is  the  change  which  takes  place.  From  one  end  o. 
the  grain  issues  a green  sprout;  from  the  other,  a number  of 
Wiiite  fibrous  threads.  [PI.  XXXIV.  fig.  5.]  Plow  can  this 
be  explained  Why  not  sprouts  from  both  ends  ? Why  not 
fibrous  threads  from  both  ends  To  what  is  the  difference 
to  be  referred,  but  to  design;  to  the  different  uses  which 
the  parts  are  thereafter  to  serve;  uses  which  discover 
themselves  in  the  sequel  of  the  process?  The  sprout,  or 
plumule,  struggles  into  the  air;  and  becomes  the  plant,  of 
which,  from  the  first,  it  contained  the  rudiments:  the  fibres 
shoot  into  the  earth ; and  thereby  both  fix  the  plant  to  the 
ground,  and  collect  nourishment  from  the  soil  for  its  sup- 
port.* Now,  what  is  not  a little  remarkable,  the  parts 

* “ The  seedy  the  last  production  of  vigorous  vegetation,  is  wonder 
fully  diversified  in  form.  Being  of  the  highest  importance  to  the  re- 
sources of  nature,  it  is  defended  above  all  other  parts  of  the  plant,  by  soft, 
pulpy  substances,  as  in  the  esculent  fruits,  by  thick  membranes,  as  in  the 
leguminous  vegetables,  and  by  hard  shells,  or  a thick  epidermis,  as  in  the 
palms  and  grasses. 

“ In  every  seed  there  is  to  be  distinguished,  first,  the  organ  of  nour^ 
ishment;  secondly,  the  nascent  plant,  or  ihe  plume;  thirdly,  the  nascent 
root,  or  the  radicle, 

“ In  the  common  garden  bean,  the  organ  of  nourishment  is  divided  in- 
to two  lobes  called  cotyledons;  the  plume  is  the  small  white  point  be- 
tween the  upper  part  of  the  lobes;  and  the  radicle  is  the  small  curved  cone 
at  their  base. 

“ In  wheat,  and  in  many  of  the  grasses,  the  organ  of  nourishment  is  a 
single  part,  and  these  plants  are  called  monocotyledonous.  In  other 
cases  It  consists  of  more  than  two  parts,  when  the  plants  are  called  polye^ 
otyledonous.  In  the  greater  number  of  instances  it  is,  however,  simply 
divided  into  two,  and  is  dicotyledonous. 

“ The  matter  of  the  seed,  when  examined  in  its  common  state,  appears 
dead  and  inert;  it  exhibits  neither  the  forms  nor  the  functions  of  life. 
But  let  it  be  acted  upon  by  moisture,  heat,  and  air,  and  its  organized 
powers  are  soon  distinr.ly  developed.  The  cotyledons  expand,  the 
membranes  burst,  the  ridicle  acquires  new  matter,  descends  into  the 
soil,  and  the  plume  rises  towards  the  free  air.  By  degrees,  the  organs 
of  nourishment  of  dicotyledonous  plants  become  vascular,  and  are  con 
verted  into  seed  leaves,  and  the  perfect  plant  appears  above  the  soil 


*202 


OF  PLANTS. 


issuing  from  the  seed  take  their  respective  directions,  into 
whatever  position  the  seed  itself  happens  to  be  cast.  II 
the  seed  be  thrown  into  the  wrongest  possible  position, 
that  is,  if  the  ends  point  in  the  ground  the  reverse  of  what 
they  ought  to  do,  everything,  nevertheless,  goes  on  right. 
The  sprout,  after  being  pushed  down  a little  way,  makes 
a bend,  and  turns  upwards:  the  fibres,  on  the  contrary, 
after  shooting  at  first  upwards,  turn  down.  Of  this  extraor- 
dinary vegetable  fact,  an  account  has  lately  been  attempted 
to  be  given:  ‘‘The  plumule,  (it  is  said,)  is  stimulated  by 
tlie  air  into  action,  and  elongates  itself  when  it  is  thus 
most  excited;  the  radicle  is  stimulated  by  moisture,  and 
elongates  itself  when  it  is  thus  most  excited.  Whence 
one  of  these  grows  upward  in  quest  of  its  adapted  object, 
and  the  other  downward.”  Were  this  account  better 
verified  by  experiment p than  it  is,  it  only  shifts  the  con- 

Nature  has  provided  the  elements  of  germination  on  every  part  of  the 
surface;  water  and  pure  air  and  heiit  are  universally  active,  and  the 
means  for  the  preservation  and  multiplication  of  life,  are  at  once  simple 
and  grand.”  Sir  H.  Davyds  Elements  of  As-riculiural  Chemistry , 
.i.  ed.  p.  70. — Paxton. 

* Darwin’s  Phytologia,  p.  144. 

t “ Gravitation  has  a very  important  influence  on  the  growth  of  plants; 
and  it  is  rendered  probable,  by  the  experiments  of  JMr.  Knight,  that  they 
owe  the  peculiar  direction  of  their  roots  and  branches  almost  entirely  to 
its  force. 

“ That  gentleman  fixed  some  seeds  of  the  garden  bean  on  the  circum- 
ference of  a wheel,  which  in  one  instance  was  placed  vertically,  and  in 
the  other  horizor/ally,  and  made  to  revolve,  by  means  of  another  wheel 
worked  by  water,  iii  ^uch  a manner,  that  the  number  of  the  revolutions 
could  be  regulated;  the  beans  were  supplied  with  moisture,  and  were  plac- 
ed under  circumstances  favorable  to  germination.  The  great  velocity 
of  motion  given  to  the  wheel  was  such,  that  it  performed  250  revolutions 
in  a minute.  It  was  found  that  in  all  cases  the  beans  grew,  and  that  the 
direction  of  the  roots  and  stems  was  influenced  by  the  motion  of  the 
wheel.  When  the  centrifugal  force  was  made  superior  to  the  force  of 
grav  tation,  which  was  supposed  to  be  done  when  the  vertical  wheel  per- 
formed 150  revolutions  in  a minute,  all  the  radicles,  in  whatever  way 
they  were  protruded  from  the  position  of  the  seeds,  turned  their  points 
outwards  from  the  circumference  of  the  wheel,  and  in  their  subsequent 
growth  receded  nearly  at  right  angles  from  its  axis;  the  germens  (plum- 
ules) on  tlie  contrary,  » dv  the  opposite  direction,  and  in  a few  days  their 
points  all  met  in  the  ce-.ve  of  the  wheel. 

“When  the  centrifugal  force  was  made  merely  to  modify  the  force  of 
gravitation  in  the  horizontal  wheel,  where  the  greatest  velocity  of  revolu- 
tion was  given,  the  radicles  pointed  downwards  about  ten  d(‘grees  below, 
and  the  germens  (plumules)  as  many  degrees  above  the  horizontal  line  of 
the  wheel’s  motion;  and  the  deviation  from  the  perpendicular  was  less  in 
proportion,  as  the  motion  was  less  rapid. 

“Tliese  facts  afford  a rational  solution  of  this  curious  problem,  respeeV 


OF  PLANTS. 


202 


trivance.  It  does  not  disprove  the  contrivance;  it  only  re- 
moves it  a little  farther  back.  Who,  to  use  our  authorh 
own  language,  '' adapted  the  objects.^’’  Who  gave  such 
a quality  to  these  connate  parts,  as  to  be  susceptible  of  dif 
f event  “ stimulation;”  as  to  be  “ excited  ” each  only  by  its 
own  element,  and  precisely  by  that  which  the  success  oi 
the  vegetation  requires?  I say,  “which  tiie  success  of  the 
vegetation  requires:”  for  the  toil  of  the  husbandman  v/ould 
have  been  in  vain;  his  laborious  and  expensive  preparation 
of  the  ground  in  vain;  if  the  event  must,  after  all,  depend 
upon  the  position  in  which  the  scattered  seed  was  sown 
Not  one  seed  out  of  a hundred  would  fall  in  a right  di 
rection. 

Our  second  observation  is  upon  a general  property  cl 
climbing  plants,  which  is  strictly  mechanical.  In  these 
plants,  from  each  knot  or  joint,  or  as  botanists  call  it,  ax- 
illa, of  thi;  plant,  issue,  close  to  each  other,  two  shoots; 
one  bearing  the  flower  and  fruit;  the  other,  drawn  out  into 
a wire,  a long,  tapering,  spiral  tendril,  that  twists  itself 
round  anything  which  lies  within  its  reach.  Considering, 
th-at  in  this  class  two  purposes  are  to  be  provided  for,  (anc 
together,)  fructification  and  support,  the  fruitage  of  the 
plant,  and  the  sustentation  of  the  stalk,  what  means  could 
be  used  more  effectual,  or,  as  I have  said,  more  mechanical, 
than  what  this  structure  presents  to  our  eyes?  Why,  or 
hoWj  without  a view  to  this  double  purpose,  do  two  shoots, 
of  such  different  and  appropriate  forms,  spring  from  the 
same  joint,  from  contiguous  points  of  the  same  stalk?  It 
never  happens  thus  in  robust  plants,  or  in  trees.  “We 
see  not,  (says  Ray,)  so  much  as  one  tree,  or  shrub,  or 
herb,  that  hath  a firm  and  strong  stem,  and  that  is  able  to 
mount  up  and  stand  alone  without  assistance,  furnished 
with  these  tendrils d*  Make  only  so  simple  a comparison 

mg  which,  different  philosophers  have  given  such  different  opinions;  some 
referring  it  to  the  nature  of  the  sap,  as  De  la  Hire,  others  as  Darwin,  to 
the  living  powers  of  the  plant,  and  the  stimulus  of  air  upon  the  leaves, 
and  of  moisture  upon  the  roots.  The  effect  is  now  shown  to  be  connect- 
ed with  mephanical  causes;  and  there  seems  no  other  power  in  nature  to 
which  it  can  with  propriety  be  referred  but  gravity,  which  acts  universal- 
ly, and  which  must  tend  to  dispose  the  parts  to  take  a uniform  direction. 

“ The  direction  of  the  radicles  and  germens  (plumules)  is  such,  that 
both  are  supplied  with  food,  ^u^d  acted  upon  by  those  external  agents  wnich 
are  necessary  for  their  developement  and  growth.  The  roots  come  in 
contact  with  the  fluids  in  the  ground;  the  leaves  are  exposed  to  light 
and  air;  and  the  same  grand  law  which  preserves  the  planets  in  their  or- 
bits is  thus  essential  to  the  functions  of  vegetable  life.” — Davy’s  El.  Agr 
Chem.  ii.  Ed.  p.  32. — Paxton. 


204 


OF  PLANTS. 


as  that  between  a pea  and  a bean.  Why  does  the  pea  piu 
forth  tendrils,  the  bean  not;  but  because  the  stalk  of  the 
pea  cannot  support  itself,  the  stalk  of  the  bean  can.^  We 
may  add  also,  as  a circumstance  not  to  be  overlooked,  that 
in  the  pea  tribe  these  clasps  do  not  make  their  appearance 
till  they  are  wanted;  till  the  plant  has  grown  to  a height 
to  stand  in  need  of  support. 

This  word  ‘‘  support’’  suggests  to  us  a reflection  upon 
the  property  of  grasses,  of  corn,  and  canes.  The  hollow 
stems  of  these  classes  of  plants  are  set,  at  certain  intervals, 
with  joints.  These  joints  are  not  found  in  the  trunks  of 
trees,  or  in  the  solid  stalks  of  plants.  There  may  be  other 
uses  of  these  joints;  but  the  fact  is,  and  it  appears  to  be 
at  least  one  purpose  designed  by  them,  that  they  corrobo- 
rate the  stern;  which,  by  its  length  and  hollowness,  would 
otherwise  be  too  liable  to  break  or  bend. 

Grasses  are  Nature’s  care.  With  these  she  clothes  the 
earth;  with  these  she  sustains  its  inhabitants.  Cattle  feed 
upon  their  leaves;  birds  upon  their  smaller  seeds;  men 
upon  the  larger:  for  few  readers  need  be  told,  that  the 
plants  which  produce  our  bread-corn  belong  to  this  class. 
In  those  tribes,  which  are  more  generally  considered  as 
grasses,  their  extraordinary  means  and  powers  of  preserva 
tion  and  increase,  their  hardness,  their  almost  unconquer- 
able disposition  to  spread,  their  faculties  of  reviviscence, 
coincide  with  the  intention  of  nature  concerning  them. 
They  thrive  under  a treatment  by  which  other  plants  are  de- 
stroyed. The  more  their  leaves  are  consumed,  the  more 
their  roots  increase.  The  more  they  are  trampled  upon, 
the  thicker  they  grow.  Many  of  the  seemingly  dry  and 
dead  leaves  of  grasses  revive,  and  renew  their  verdure,  in 
the  spring.  In  lofty  mountains,  where  the  summer  heats 
are  not  sufficient  to  ripen  the  seeds,  grasses  abound,  which 
are  viviparous,  and  consequently  able  to  propagate  them- 
selves without  seed.  It  is  an  observation,  likewise,  which 
has  often  been  made,  that  herbivorous  animals  attach  them- 
selves to  the  leaves  of  grasses;  and,  if  at  liberty  in  their 
pastures  to  range  and  choose,  leave  untouched  the  straws 
which  support  the  flowers.* 

The  GENERAL  properties  of  vegetable  nature,  or  proper- 
ties common  to  large  portions  of  that  kingdom,  are  almost 
all  which  the  compass  of  our  argument  allows  to  bring  for- 
ward. It  is  impossible  to  follow  plants  into  their  several 
species.  We  may  be  allowed,  however,  to  single  out  three 


♦ Willi.  Bot  An-,  vol.  i.  d.  28.  ed.  2d. 


OF  PLANTS. 


205 


or  four  of  these  species  as  worthy  of  a particular  notice, 
either  by  some  singular  mechanism,  or  by  some  peculiar 
provision,  or  by  both. 

I.  In  Dr.  Darwin’s  Botanic  Garden  (1.  395,  note,)  is  the 
following  account  of  the  vallisneria,  as  it  has  been  observ- 
ed in  the  river  Rhone. — [PI.  XXXV.  fig.  1,  2,  3.]  “ Thev 
have  roots  at  the  bottom  of  the  Rhone.  The  flowers  of 
the  female  plant  float  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  are 
furnished  with  an  elasticy  spiral  stalky  which  extends  or 
contracts  as  the  water  rises  or  falls;  this  rise  or  fall,  from 
the  torrents  which  flow  into  the  river,  often  amounting 
to  many  feet  in  a few  hours.  The  flowers  of  the  male  ])lani 
are  produced  under  water;  and  as  soon  as  the  f^undat- 
ing  farina  is  mature,  they  separate  themselves  from  the 
plant,  rise  to  the  surface,  and  are  wafted  by  the  air,  or 
borne  by  the  currents,  to  the  female  flowers.”  Our  atten- 
tion in  this  narrative  will  be  directed  to  two  particulars; 
first  to  the  mechanism,  the  ‘‘elastic  spiral  stalk,”  which 
lengthens  or  contracts  itself  according  as  the  water  rises  or 
falls;  secondly,  to  the  provision  which  is  made  for  bring- 
ing the  male  flower,  which  is  produced  under  water,  to  the 
female  flower  which  floats  upon  the  surface. 

II.  My  second  example  I take  from  Withering.  (Ar- 
rang.  vol.  ii.  p.  209.  ed.  3.)  “ The  cuscuta  Europcea  is  a par- 
asitical plant.  [Plate  XXXVI.]  The  seed  opens  and  puts 
forth  a little  spiral  hodijy  which  does  not  seek  the  earth  to 
take  root,  but  climbs  in  a spiral  direction,  from  right  to  left, 
ap  other  plants,  from  which,  by  means  of  vessels,  it  draws 
its  nourishment.”  The  “little  spiral  body”  proceeding  from 
the  seed,  is  to  be  compared  with  the  fibres  which  seeds 
send  out  in  ordinary  cases:  and  the  comparison  ought 
to  regard  both  the  form  of  the  threads  and  the  direction 
They  are  straight;  this  is  spiral.  They  shoot  downwards; 
this  points  upwards.  In  the  rule,  and  in  the  exception,  we 
equally  perceive  design. 

III.  A better  known  parasitical  plant  is  the  evergreen 
shrub,  called  the  mistletoe.  What  we  have  to  remark  in  it, 
is  a singular  instance  of  compensation.  No  art  has  yet 
made  these  plants  take  root  in  the  earth.  Here  therefore 
might  seem  to  be  a mortal  defect  in  their  constitution.  Let 
us  examine  how  this  defect  is  made  up  to  them.  The  seeds 
are  endued  with  an  adhesive  quality,  so  tenacious,  that,  if 
they  be  rubbed  upon  the  smooth  bark  of  almost  any  tree, 
they  will  stick  to  it.  And  then  what  follows  Roots  spring 
mg  from  these  seeds,  insinuate  their  fibers  into  the  woody 
substance  of  the  tree;  and  the  event  is,  that  a mistletoe 


206 


OF  PLANTS. 


plant  is  produced  next  winter;*  of  no  other  p'iant  do  the 
roots  refuse  to  shoot  in  the  ground;  of  no  other  plant  do 
the  seeds  possess  this  adhesive,  generative  qnality,  when 
applied  to  the  bark  of  trees. 

IV.  Another  instance  of  the  compensatory  system  is  in 
the  autumnal  crocus,  or  meadow  saffron,  (colchicum  aiitiiin- 
nale.)  [PI.  XXXVII.]  I have  pitied  this  poor  plant  a 
thousand  times.  Its  blossom  rises  out  of  the  ground  in  the 
most  forlorn  condition  possible;  without  a sheath,  a fence, 
a calyx,  or  even  a leaf  to  protect  it;  and  that,  not  in  the 
spring,  not  to  be  visjted  by  summer  suns,  but  under  all  the 
disadvantages  of  the  declining  year.  When  we  come,  how- 
ever, t»  look  more  closely  into  the  structure  of  this  plant, 
we  find  that,  instead  of  its  being  neglected,  nature  has 
gone  out  of  her  course  to  provide  for  its  security,  and  to 
make  up  to  it  for  all  its  defects.  The  seed-vessel,  which  in 
other  plants  is  situated  within  the  cup  of  the  flower,  or  just 
beneath  it,  in  this  plant  lies  buried  ten  or  twelve  inches 
under  ground  within  the  bulbous  root.  The  tube  of  the 
flower,  which  is  seldom  more  than  a few  tenths  of  an  inch 
long,  in  this  plant  extends  down  to  the  root.  The  stiles 
in  all  cases  reach  the  seed-vessel;  but  it  is  in  this,  by  an 
elongation  unknown  to  any  other  plant.  All  these  singu- 
larities contribute  to  one  end.  As  this  plant  blossoms  late 
in  the  year,  and  probably  would  not  have  time  to  ripen  its 
seeds  before  the  access  of  winter,  which  would  destroy 
them.  Providence  has  contrived  its  structure  such,  that  this 
important  office  may  be  performed  at  a depth  in  the  earth 
out  of  reach  of  the  usual  effects  of  frost.”]*  That  is  to  say, 
in  the  autumn  nothing  is  done  above  ground  but  the  busi- 
ness of  impregnation;  which  is  an  affair  between  the  an- 
therse  and  the  stigmata,  and  is  probably  soon  over.  The 
maturation  of  the  impregnated  seed,  which  in  other  plants 
proceeds  within  a capsule,  exposed  together  with  the  rest 
of  the  flower  to  the  open  air,  is  here  carried  on,  and  during 
the  whole  winter,  within  the  heart,  as  we  may  say,  of  the 
earth,  that  is  ‘‘out  of  the  reach  of  the  usual  effects  of 
frost.”  But  then  a new  difficulty  presents  itself.  Seeds, 
though  perfected,  are  known  not  to  vegetate  at  this  depth 
in  the  earth.  Our  seeds,  therefore,  though  so  safely  lodged, 
would,  after  all,  be  lost  to  the  purpose  for  which  all  seeds 
are  intended.  Lest  this  should  be  the  case,  “ a second 
admirable  provision  is  made  to  raise  them  above  the  surface 
when  they  are  perfected,  and  to  sow  tliem  at  a proper  dis- 

* Withering^  Dot.  Arr.  vol.  i.  p.  203,  ed.  2d. 

t Withering’s  Botanical  Arrangement,  p.  360. 


OF  PLANTS. 


207 


tance;’^  viz.  the  germ  grows  up  in  the  spring,  upon  a fruit 
stalk,  accompanied  with  leaves.  The  seeds  now,  in  com- 
mon with  those  of  other  plants,  have  the  benefit  of  the  sum- 
mer, and  are  sown  upon  the  surface.  The  order  of  vege- 
tation externally  is  this: — The  plant  produces  its  flowers  in 
September;  its  leaves  and  fruits  in  the  spring  following. 

V.  I give  the  account  of  the  dioncea  muscipula,  [Plate 
XXXVIII.]  an  extraordinary  American  plant,  as  some  late 
authors  have  related  it:  but  whether  we  be  yet  enough  ac- 
quainted witu  the  plant,  to  bring  every  part  of  this  account 
to  the  test  ot  repeated  and  familiar  observation,  I am  unable 
to  say.  Its  leaves  are  jointed,  and  furnished  with  two  rows 
of  strong  prickles;  their  surfaces  covered  with  a number  of 
minute  glands,  which  secrete  a sweet  liquor  that  allures 
the  approach  of  flies.  When  these  parts  are  touched  by 
the  legs  of  flies,  the  two  lobes  of  the  leaf  instantly  spring 
up,  the  rows  of  prickles  lock  themselves  fast  together,  and 
squeeze  the  unwary  animal  to  death.’’*  Here,  under  a 
new  model,  we  recognise  the  ancient  plan  of  nature,  viz. 
the  relation  of  parts  and  provisions  to  one  another,  to  a 
common  office,  and  to  the  utility  of  the  organized  body  to 
which  they  belong.  The  attracting  sirup,  the  rows  of 
strong  prickles,  their  position  so  as  to  interlock  the  joints 
of  the  leaves;  and  what  is  more  than  the  rest,  that  sin- 
gular irritability  of  their  surfaces,  by  which  they  close  at 
a touch;  all  bear  a contributory  part  in  producing  an  ef- 
fect, connected  either  with  the  defence,  or  with  the  nu- 
trition of  the  plant. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  ELEMENTS. 

When  we  come  to  the  elements,  we  take  leave  of  our 
mechanics;  because  we  come  to  those  things,  of  the  or- 
ganization of  which,  if  they  be  organized,  we  are  confess- 
edly ignorant.  This  ignorance  is  implied  by  their  name. 
To  say  the  truth,  our  investigations  are  stopped  long 
before  we  arrive  at  this  point.  But  then  it  is  for  our 
comfort  to  find,  that  a knowledge  of  the  constitution  of  the 
elements  is  not  necessary  for  us.  For  instance,  as  Addison 
has  well  :)bserved,  we  know  water  sufficiently,  when  we 


* Smellie’s  Phil,  of  Nat.  His.  vc  ' l p.  5. 


208 


THE  ELEMENTS. 


know  how  to  boil,  how  to  freeze,  how  fo  evaporate,  how-to 
make  it  fresh,  how  to  make  it  run  or  spout  out  in  what 
quantity  and  direction  we  please,  without  knowing  what 
water  is.”  The  observation  of  this  excellent  writer  has 
more  propriety  in  it  now,  than  it  had  at  the  time  it  was 
made:  for  the  constitution,  and  the  constituent  parts  of 
water,  appear  in  some  measure  to  have  been  lately  discov- 
ered; yet  it  does  not,  I think,  appear,  that  we  can  make 
any  better  or  greater  use  of  water  since  the  discovery,  than 
we  did  before  it. 

We  can  never  think  of  the  elements,  without  reflecting 
upon  the  number  of  distinct  uses  which  are  consolidated 
in  the  same  substance.  The  air  supplies  the  lungs,  sup- 
ports fire,  conveys  sound,  reflects  light,  diffuses  smells, 
gives  rain,  wafts  ships,  bears  up  birds.  ’E^  vdarog  ra  navxa\ 
water,  besides  maintaining  its  own  inhabitants,  is  the  uni- 
versal nourisher  of  plants,  and  through  them  of  terrestrial 
animals;  is  the  basis  of  their  juices  and  fluids;  dilutes 
their  food;  quenches  their  thirst;  floats  their  burdens. 
Fire  warms,  dissolves,  enlightens;  is  the  great  promoter 
of  vegetation  and  life,  if  not  necessary  to  the  support  of 
both. 

We  might  enlarge,  to  almost  any  length  we  pleased,  up- 
on each  of  these  uses;  but  it  appears  to  me  almost  suffi- 
cient to  state  them.  The  few  remarks  which  I judge  it 
necessary  to  add,  are  as  follow; 

I.  Air  is  essentially  different  from  earth.  There  ap- 
pears to  be  no  necessity  for  an  atmosphere’s  investing  our 
globe;  yet  it  does  invest  it:  and  we  see  how  many,  how 
various,  and  how  important  are  the  purposes  which  it 
answers  to  every  order  of  animated,  not  to  say  of  organ- 
ized beings,  which  are  placed  upon  the  terrestrial  surface. 
I think  that  every  one  of  these  uses  will  be  understood 
upon  the  first  mention  of  them,  except  it  be  that  of  reflect^ 
mg  light,  which  may  be  explained  thus: — If  I had  the  pow 
er  of  seeing  only  by  means  of  rays  coming  directly  from 
the  sun,  whenever  I turned  my  back  upon  the  luminary, 
I should  find  myself  in  darkness.  If  I had  the  power  of 
seeing  hy  reflected  light,  yet  by  means  only  of  light 
reflected  from  solid  masses,  these  masses  would  shine, 
indeed,  and  glisten,  but  it  would  be  in  the  dark.  The 
hernia,# nere,  the  sky,  the  world,  could  only  be  illuminated, 
as  it  IS  illuminated,  by  the  light  of  the  sun  being  from  all 
sides,  and  in  every  direction,  reflected  to  the  eye  by  parti- 
cles, as  n imcrous,  as  thickly  scattered,  and  as  widely 
diffused,  a?  aie  those  of  the  air 


THE  ELEMENTS. 


209 


Another  general  quality  of  the  atmosphere  is  the  power 
if  evaporating  fluids.  The  adjustment  of  this  quality  to 
)ar  use  is  seen  in  its  action  upon  the  sea.  In  the  sea, 
water  and  salt  are  mixed  together  most  intimately;  yet 
the  atmosphere  raises  the  water,  and  leaves  the  salt.  Pure 
and  fresh  as  drops  of  rain  descend,  they  are  collected  from 
brine.  If  evaporation  be  solution,  (which  seems  to  be 
probable,)  then  the  air  dissolves  the  water,  and  not  the  salt. 
Upon  whatever  it  be  founded,  the  distinction  is  critical,  so 
much  so,  that  when  we  attempt  to  imitate  the  process  by 
art,  we  must  regulate  our  distillation  with  great  care  and 
nicety,  or,  together  with  the  water,  we  get  the  bitterness, 
or,  at  least,  the  distastefulness,  of  the  marine  substance: 
and,  after  all,  it  is  owing  to  this  original  elective  power  in 
the  air,  that  we  can  effect  the  separation  which  we  wish, 
by  any  art  or  means  whatever. 

By  evaporation,  water  is  carried  up  into  the  air;  by  the 
converse  of  evaporation,  it  falls  down  upon  the  earth.  And 
how  does  it  fall?  Not  by  the  clouds  being  all  at  once  re- 
converted into  water,  and  descending  like  a sheet;  not  in 
rushing  down  in  columns  from  a spout;  but  in  moderate 
drops,  as  from  a colander.  Our  watering-pots  are  made  to 
imitate  showers  of  rain.  Yet,  a ^priori,  I should  have 
thought  either  of  the  two  former  methods  more  likely  to 
have  taken  place  than  the  last. 

By  respiration,  flame,  putrefaction,  air  is  rendered  unfit 
for  the  support  of  animal  life.  By  the  constant  operation 
of  these  corrupting  principles,  the  whole  atmosphere,  if 
there  were  no  restoring  causes,  would  come  at  length  to  be 
deprived  of  its  necessary  degree  of  purity  Some  of  these 
causes  seem  to  have  been  discovered,  and  their  efficacy 
ascertained  by  experiment.  And  so  far  as  the  discovery 
has  proceeded,  it  opens  to  us  a beautiful  and  a wonderful 
economy.  Vegetation  proves  to  be  one  of  them.  A sprig 
of  mint  corked  up  with  a small  portion  of  foul  air  placed 
hi  the  light,  renders  it  again  capable  of  supporting  life  or 
flame.  Here,  therefore,  is  a constant  circulation  of  bene- 
fits maintained  between  the  two  great  provinces  of  organ- 
ized nature.  The  plant  purifies  what  the  animal  has 
poisoned;  in  return,  the  contaminated  air  is  more  than 
ordinarily  nutritious  to  the  plant.  Agitation  with  water 
turns  out  to  be  another  of  these  restoratives.  The  foulest 
air,  shaken  in  a bottle  with  water  for  a sufficient  length  of 
limey,  recovers  a great  degree  of  its  purity.  Here  then 
again,  allowing  for  the  scale  upon  which  nature  works,  we 
see  the  salutary  effects  of  storms  and  tempests.  The  yesty 


210 


THE  ELEMENTS 


waves  which  confound  the  heaven  and  the  sea,  are  doin^ 
the  very  thing  which  was  done  in  the  bottle.  Nothing  can 
oe  of  greater  importance  to  the  living  creation,  than  the 
saliftrity  of  their  atmosphere.  It  ought  to  reconcile  us, 
therefore,  to  these  agitations  of  the  elements,  of  which  we 
sometimes  deplore  the  consequences,  to  know,  that  they 
tend  powerfully  to  restore  to  the  air  that  purity,  which  so 
many  causes  are  constantly  impairing. 

II.  In  water,  what  ought  not  a little  to  be  admired,  are 
those  negative  qualities  which  constitute  its  purity.  Had 
it  been  vinous,  or  oleaginous,  or  acid;  had  the  sea  been 
filled,  or  the  rivers  flowed,  with  wine  or  milk;  fish,  con 
stitJted  as  they  are,  must  have  died;  plants,  constituted 
as  they  are,  would  have  withered;  the  lives  of  animals 
w^hich  feed  upon  plants,  must  have  perished.  Its  very  m- 
sipidity,  which  is  one  of  those  negative  qualities,  renders 
it  the  best  of  all  menstrua.  Having  no  taste  of  its  own, 
it  becomes  the  sincere  vehicle  of  every  other.  Had  there 
oeen  a taste  in  water,  be  it  what  it  might,  it  would  have 
infected  everything  we  ate  or  drank,  with  an  importunate 
repetition  of  the  same  flavor. 

Another  thing  in  this  element,  not  less  to  be  admired, 
is  the  constant  round  which  it  travels;  and  by  which,  with 
out  suffering  either  adulteration  or  waste,  it  is  continually 
offering  itself  to  the  wants  of  the  habitable  globe.  From 
the  sea  are  exhaled  those  vapors  which  form  the  clouds; 
these  clouds  descend  in  showers,  which,  penetrating  into 
".he  crevices  of  the  hills,  supply  springs;  which  springs 
flow  in  little  streams  into  the  valleys;  and  there,  uniting, 
become  rivers;  which  rivers,  in  return,  feed  the  ocean.  So 
there  is  an  incessant  circulation  of  the  same  fluid;  and  not 
one  drop  probably  more  or  less  now  than  there  was  at  the 
creation.  A particle  of  water  takes  its  departure  from  the 
surface  of  the  sea,  in  order  to  fulfil  certain  important  ofli 
ces  to  the  earth;  and,  having  executed  the  service  whic 
was  assigned  to  it,  returns  to  the  bosom  Alfiich  it  left. 

Some  have  thought,  that  we  have  too  mireh  water  upoi 
the  globe,  the  sea  occupying  above  three  quarters  of  its 
whole  surface.  But  the  expanse  of  ocean,  immense  as  it 
is,  may  be  no  more  than  sufficient  to  fertilize  the  earth. 
Or,  independently  of  this  reason,  I know  not  why  the  sea 
may  not  have  as  good  a right  to  its  place  as  the  land.  It 
may  proportionably  support  as  many  inhabitants;  minister 
to  as  large  an  aggregate  of  enjoyment.  The  land  only  af- 
fords a habitable  surface ; the  se : is  habitable  to  a great 


THE  ELEMENTS. 


211 


III.  Of  fire,  we  have  said  that  it  dissolves.  The  onl^ 
idea  probably  which  this  term  raised  in  the  reader's  mind, 
was  that  of  fire  melting  metals,  resins,  and  some  other 
substances,  fluxing  ores,  running  glass,  and  assisting  us  in 
mai.y  of  our  operations,  chemical  or  culinary.  Now  these 
are  only  uses  of  an  occasional  kind,  and  give  us  a very 
imperfect  notion  of  what  fire  does  for  us.  The  grand  im- 
portance of  this  dissolving  power,  the  great  office  indeed  of 
fire  in  the  economy  of  nature,  is  keeping  things  in  a state 
of  solution,  that  is  to  say,  in  a state  of  fluidity.  Were  it 
not  for  the  presence  of  heat,  or  of  a certain  degree  of  it,  al. 
fluids  would  be  frozen.  The  ocean  itself  would  be  a quar- 
ly  of  ice ; universal  nature  stifl’  and  dead. 

We  see,  therefore,  that  the  elements  bear  not  only  a 
strict  relation  to  the  constitution  of  organized  bodies,  but 
a relation  to  each  other.  Water  could  not  perform  its  of- 
fice to  the  earth  without  air;  nor  exist,  as  water,  without  fire. 

IV.  Of  light,  (whether  we  regard  it  as  of  the  same 
substance  with  fire,  or  as  a different  substance,)  it  is  alto- 
gether superfluous  to  expatiate  upon  the  use.  No  man  dis- 
putes it.  The  observations,  therefore,  which  I shall  offer, 
respect  that  little  which  we  seem  to  know  of  its  constitution. 

Light  travels  from  the  sun  at  the  rate  of  twelve  million 
of  miles  in  a minute.  Urged  by  such  a velocity,  with 
what  force  must  its  particles  drive  against,  (I  will  not  say 
the  eye,  the  tenderest  of  animal  substances,  but)  every 
substance,  animate  or  inanimate,  which  stands  in  its  way! 
It  might  seem  to  be  a force  sufficient  to  shatter  to  atoms 
the  hardest  bodies. 

How  then  is  this  effect,  the  consequence  of  such  pro- 
digious velocity,  guarded  against.^  By  a proportionable 
minuteness  of  the  particles  of  which  light  is  compoKjcd.  It  is 
impossible  for  the  human  mind  to  imagine  to  itself  any- 
thing so  small  as  a particle  of  light.  But  this  extreme  ex- 
ility, though  difficult  to  conceive,  it  is  easy  to  prove.  A drop 
of  tallow,  expended  in  the  wick  of  a farthing  candle,  shall 
send  forth  rays  sufficient  to  fill  a hemisphere  of  a mile  di- 
ameter; and  to  fill  it  so  full  of  these  rays,  that  an  aperture 
not  larger  than  the  pupil  of  an  eye,  wherever  it  be  placed 
within  the  hemisphere,  shall  be  sure  to  receive  some  of 
them.  What  floods  of  light  are  continually  poured  from 
the  sun,  we  cannot  estimate;  but  the  immensity  of  the 
sphere  which  is  filled  with  its  particles,  even  if  it  reached 
no  farther  than  the  orbit  of  the  earth,  we  can  in  some  sort 
compute;  and  we  have  reason  to  believe,  that  throughout 
th’s  whole  region,  the  particles  of  light  lie,  in  latitude  at 


212 


A«5TR0N0MY. 


least,  near  to  one  another.  The  spissitude  of  th^  sun’s 
rays  at  the  earth  is  such,  that  the  number  which  falls  upon 
a burning  glass  of  an  inch  diameter,  is  sufficient,  when 
concentrated,  to  set  wood  on  fire. 

The  tenuity  and  the  velocity  of  particles  of  light,  as  as- 
certained by  separate  observations,  may  be  said  to  be  pro- 
portioned to  each  other;  both  surpassing  our  utmost  stretch 
of  comprehension;  but  proportioned.  And  it  is  this  pro- 
portion alone  which  converts  a tremendous  element  into  a 
welcome  visiter. 

It  has  been  observed  to  me  by  a learned  friend,  as  hav- 
ing often  struck  his  mind,  that  if  light  had  been  made  by 
a common  artist,  it  would  have  been  of  one  uniform  color; 
whereas,  by  its  present  composition,  we  have  that  variety 
•of  colors  which  is  of  such  infinite  use  to  us  for  the  dis 
tinguishing  of  objects;  which  adds  so  much  to  the  beauty  of 
the  earth,  and  augments  the  stock  of  our  innocent  pleasures. 

With  which  may  be  joined  another  reflection,  viz.  that, 
considering  light  as  compounded  of  rays  of  seven  different 
colors,  (of  which  there  can  be  no  doubt,  because  it  can 
be  resolved  into  these  rays  by  simply  passing  it  through  a 
prism,)  the  constituent  parts  must  be  well  mixed  and  blend- 
ed together,  to  produce  a fluid  so  clear  and  colorless  as 
a beam  of  light  is,  when  received  from  the  sun. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


ASTRONOMY.* 


My  opinion  of  astronomy  has  always  been,  that  it  is  noi 
ihe  best  medium  through  which  to  prove  the  agency  of  an 
intelligent  Creator;  but  that,  this  being  proved,  it  shows, 
beyond  all  other  sciences,  the  magnificence  of  his  opera 
tions.  The  mind,  which  is  once  convinced,  it  raises  to 
sublimer  view’s  of  the  Deity  than  any  other  subject  affords; 
but  it  is  not  so  well  adapted  as  some  other  subjects  are  to 
the  purpose  of  argument.  We  are  destitute  of  the  means 
of  examining  the  constitution  of  the  heavenly  bodies.  The 
very  simplicity  of  their  appearance  is  against  them.  We 

* For  the  articles  in  this  chapter  marked  with  an  asterisk,  I am  indebtei 
to  some  obliging  communicatioas  received  (through  the  hands  of  the  Lor(? 
Dishop  of  Elphin)  from  the  Rev.  J.  Briiikle*'  I\  D.  Andrew’s  Profeesm 
of  Astronomy  in  the  University  of  Dublin. 


ASTRONOMY 


213 


»ee  nothing  but  bright  points,  luminous  circles,  or  the 
phases  of  spheres  reflecting  the  light  which  falls  upon  them. 
Now  we  deduce  design  from  relation,  aptitude,  and  cor- 
respondence of  parts.  Some  degree  therefore  of  com- 
plexity is  necessary  to  render  a subject  fit  for  this  species 
of  argument.  But  the  Jieavenly  bodies  do  not,  except  per- 
haps in  the  instance  of  Saturn’s  ring,  present  themselves  Uj 
our  observation  as  compounded  of  parts  at  all.  This, 
which  may  be  a perfection  in  them,  is  a disadvantage  to  us, 
as  inquirers  after  their  nature.  They  do  not  come  within 
our  mechanics. 

And  what  we  say  of  their  forms,  is  true  of  their  motions 
Their  motions  are  carried  on  without  any  sensible  interme- 
diate apparatus;  whereby  we  are  cut  off  from  one  principal 
ground  of  aigumentation — analogy.  We  have  nothing 
wherewith  to  compare  them;  no  invention,  no  discovery, 
no  operation  or  resource  of  art,  which,  in  this  respect, 
resembles  them.  Even  those  things  which  are  made  to  im- 
itate and  represent  them,  such  as  orreries,  planetaria,  celes- 
tial globes.  Sac.  bear  no  affinity  to  them,  in  the  cause  and 
principle  by  which  their  motions  are  actuated.  I can  as- 
sign for  this  difference  a reason  of  utility,  viz.  a reason  why 
though  the  action  of  terrestrial  bodies  upon  each  other  be, 
in  almost  all  cases,  through  the  intervention  of  solid  or 
fluid  substances,  yet  central  attraction  does  not  operate  in 
this  manner.  It  was  necessary  that  the  intervals  between 
^ the  planetary  orbs  should  be  devoid  of  any  inert  matter 
either  fluid  or  solid,  because  such  an  intervening  substance 
would,  by  its  resistance,  destroy  those  very  motions  which 
attraction  is  employed  to  preserve.  This  may  be  a final 
cause  of  the  difference;  but  still  the  difference  destroys 
the  analogy 

Our  ignorance,  moreover,  of  the  sensitive  natures  by 
which  other  planets  are  inhabited,  necessarily  keeps  from 
us  the  knowledge  of  numberless  utilities,  relations,  and 
subserviencies,  which  we  perceive  upon  our  own  globe. 

After  all ; the  real  subject  of  admiration  is,  that  we  um 
derstand  so  much  of  astronomy  as  we  do.  That  an  animal 
confined  to  the  surface  of  one  of  the  planets;  bearing  a 

* The  moon  has  no  perceptible  atmosphere:  and  as  no  effects  have 
been  observed  like  those  which  would  be  produced  by  vapors  or  exhala- 
tions fro-xi  its  surface,  it  is  possible  that  there  are  no  fluids  upon  it. 
There  is  no  reason,  however,  from  these  circumstances,  for  denying  the 
existen.ce  of  sensitive  beings  upon  it,  although  they  must  be  very  dif- 
ferently constituted  froir.  ourselves  to  whof '2  air  and  water  are  essentially 
necessary. — Paxton, 


214 


ASTRONOMY. 


less  proportion  to  it  than  the  smallest  microscopic  insect^ 
does  to  the  plant  it  lives  upon;  that  this  little,  busy,  in- 
quisitive creature,  by  the  use  of  senses  which  were  given 
to  it  for  its  domestic  neces'^ities,  and  by  means  of  the  as- 
sistance of  those  senses  which  it  has  had  the  art  to  procure, 
should  have  been  enabled  to  observe  the  whole  system  of 
worlds  to  which  its  own  belongs;  the  changes  of  place 
of  the  immense  globes  which  compose  it ; and  with  such 
accuracy,  as  to  mark  out,  beforehand,  the  situation  in  the 
heavens  in  which  they  will  be  found  at  any  future  point  of 
ime,  and  that  these  bodies,  after  sailing  through  regions 
if  void  and  trackless  space,  should  arrive  at  the  place  where 
they  were  expected,  not  within  a minute,  but  within  a few 
seconds  of  a minute,  of  the  time  prefixed  and  predicted:  all 
this  is  wonderful,  whether  we  refer  our  admiration  to  the 
constancy  of  the  heavenly  motions  themselves,  or  to  the 
perspicacity  and  precision  with  which  they  have  been  no- 
ticed by  mankind.  Nor  is  this  the  whole,  nor  indeed  the 
chief  part  of  what  astronomy  teaches.  By  bringing  reason 
to  bear  upon  observation,  (the  acutest  reasoning  upon  the 
exactest  observation)  the  astronomer  has  been  able,  out 
of  the  confusion  (for  such  it  is)  under  which  the  motions 
of  the  heavenly  bodies  present  themselves  to  the  eye  of 
a mere  gazer  upon  the  skies,  to  elicit  their  order  and  their 
real  paths. 

Our  knowledge,  therefore,  of  astronomy  is  admirable, 
though  imperfect;  and,  amidst  the  confessed  desiderata  and 
desideranda  which  impede  our  investigation  of  the  wisdom 
of  the  Deity,  in  these  the  grandest  of  his  works,  there  are 
to  be  found,  in  the  phenomena,  ascertained  circumstances 
and  laws,  sufficient  to  indicate  an  intellectual  agency  in 
three  of  its  principal  operations,  viz.  in  choosing,  in  deter- 
mining, in  regulating:  in  choosing,  out  of  a boundless  va- 
riety of  suppositions  which  were  equally  possible,  that 
which  is  beneficial;  in  determining,  what,  left  to  itself,  had 
a thousand  chances  against  conveniency,  for  one  in  its 
favor;  in  regidating  subjects,  as  to  quantity  and  degree, 
which,  by  their  nature,  were  unlimited  with  respect  to 


* Ilooke  describes  a minute  animalcule,  which  he  discovered  with  a mi- 
croscope, upon  a vine.  From  his  data  an  estimate  may  he  made  of  its 
bulk;  hut  it  is  not  so  easy  to  fix  upon  any  delerrninato  quantity  for  tho 
size  of  the  plant.  However,  to  put  the  case  strongly,  let  the  hulk  of  it 
he  taken  a*  equal  to  tliat  of  a cylinder  one  inch  in  diameter  and  a mile  in 
length.  Such  a cylinder  would  contain  above  345  cubic  feet,  and  yet  it 
wpuld  he  many  million  times  less  when  compared  with  the  animalcule, 
than  the  earth  is  when  compared  w ith  the  hulk  of  a man. — Paxton. 


ASTRONOMY. 


215 


either.  It  will  be  our  business  to  offer,  under  each  of  these 
heads,  a few  instances,  such  as  best  admit  of  a popular  ex- 
plication. 

I.  Amongst  proofs  of  choice,  one  is,  fixing  the  source 
of  light  and  heat  in  the  centre  of  the  system.  The  sun  is 
ignited  and  luminous;  the  planets  which  move  round  him, 
cold  and  dark.  There  seems  to  be  no  antecedent  neces- 
sity for  this  order.  The  sun  might  have  been  an  opaque 
mass;  some  one,  or  two,  or  more,  or  any,  or  all  the  planets, 
globes  of  fire.  There  is  nothing  in  the  nature  of  the  heav- 
enly bodies,  which  requires  that  those  which  aie  stationa- 
ry should  be  on  fire,  that  those  which  move  should  be  cold; 
for,  in  fact,  comets  are  bodies  on  fire,"^  or  at  least  capable 
of  the  most  intense  heat,  yet  revolve  round  a centre;  nor 
does  this  order  obtain  between  the  primary  planets  ana 
their  secondaries,  which  are  all  opaque.  When  we  con- 
sider, therefore,  that  the  sun  is  one;  that  the  p*anets 
going  round  it  are  at  least  seven  ;|  that  it  is  indifferent  to 
their  nature,  which  are  luminous  and  which  are  opaque, 
and  also,  in  what  order,  with  respect  to  each  other,  these 
two  kinds  of  bodies  are  disposed;  we  may  judge  of  the  im- 
probability of  the  present  arrangement  taking  place  by 
chance. 

If,  by  way  of  accounting  for  the  state  in  which  we  find 
the  solar  system,  it  be  alleged  (and  this  is  one  amongst  the 
guesses  of  those  who  reject  an  intelligent  Creator)  that  the 
planets  themselves  are  only  cooled  or  cooling  masses,  and 
were  once,  like  the  sun,  many  thousand  times  hotter  than 
red-hot  iron;  then  it  follows,  that  the  sun  also  himself 
must  be  in  his  progress  towards  growing  cold;  which  puts 
an  end  to  the  possibility  of  his  having  existed,  as  he  is, 

* It  may  be  reasonably  doubted  whether  comets  are  ever  absolutely 
“ on  fire,”  and  yet  some  of  them,  from  their  near  approach  to  the  sun, 
must  certainly  be  “ capable  of  intense  heat.”  If  we  conceive  the  earth’s 
distance  from  the  sun  to  be  divided  into  1000  parts,  the  comet  of  16S0 
was,  at  one  time,  not  more  distant  than  six  of  those  parts  from  the  sun. 
From  hence  Sir  I,  Newton  calculated  that  it  was  exposed  to  a heat  which 
was  2000  times  greater  than  that  of  a red-hot  iron. — Paxton. 

t The  seven  planets  here  alluded  to  are  Mercury,  Venus,  the  Earth, 
Mars,  Jupiter,  Saturn,  and  the  Georgium  Sidus  : we  now  know  that  there 
are  four  more,  Ceres,  Pallas,  Juno,  and  Vesta;  the  first  of  these  was  discov- 
ered in  1801,  the  second  was  observed  in  March,  1802,  the  third  was  not 
discovered  till  1804,  nor  the  last  till  1807.  Now  Dr.  Paley’s  dedication 
is  dated  July,  1802;  it  is  very  possible,  therefore  that  this  22d  chapter 
was  written  before  he  had  heard  of  Pallas,  and  even  while  it  was  yet 
doubtful  whether  Ceres  was  a comet  or  a planet.  This  will  explain  the 
reason  for  his  having  qualified  the  expression,  and  having  said  “ at  least 
seven,” 


216 


ASTRONOMY. 


from  eternity.  This  consequence  arises  out  of  the  hypoth 
esis  with  still  more  certainty,  if  we  make  a part  of  it,  whal 
the  philosophers  who  mantain  it  have  usually  taught,  that 
the  planets  were  originally  masses  of  matter,  struck  off  in 
a state  of  fusion  from  the  body  of  the  sun  by  the  percus- 
sion of  a comet,  or  by  a shock  from  some  other  cause,  with 
which  we  are  not  acquainted:  for,  if  these  masses,  partak- 
ing of  the  nature  and  substance  of  the  sun's  body,  have  in 
process  of  time  lost  their  heat,  that  body  itself,  in  time 
likewise,  no  matter  in  how  much  longer  time,  must  lose  its 
heat  also,  and  therefore  be  incapable  of  an  eternal  dura- 
tion in  the  state  in  which  we  see  it,  either  for  the  time  to 
come,  or  the  time  past. 

The  preference  of  the  present  to  any  other  mode  of  dis- 
tributing luminous  and  opaque  bodies,  I take  to  be  evident. 
It  requires  more  astronomy  than  I am  able  to  lay  before 
the  reader,  to  show,  in  its  particulars,  what  would  be  the 
effect  to  the  system,  of  a dark  body  at  the  centre,  and  of 
one  of  the  planets  being  luminous;  but  I think  it  manifest, 
without  either  plates  or  calculation,  first,  that  supposing 
the  necessary  proportion  of  magnitude  between  the  central 
and  the  revolving  bodies  to  be  preserved,  the  ignited  planet 
would  not  be  sufficient  to  illuminate  and  warm  the  rest  of 
the  system;  secondly,  that  its  light  and  heat  would  be  im- 
parted to  the  other  planets  much  more  irregularly  than 
light  and  heat  are  now  received  from  the  sun. 

(*)  II.  Another  thing,  in  which  a choice  appears  to  be 
exercised,  and  in  which,  amongst  the  possibilities  out  of 
which  the  choice  was  to  be  made,  the  number  of  those 
which  were  wrong  bore  an  infinite  proportion  to  the  num- 
ber of  those  which  were  right,  is  in  what  geometricians 
call  the  axis  of  rotation.  This  matter  I will  endeavour 
to  explain.  The  earth,  it  is  well  known,  is  not  an  exact 
globe,  but  an  oblate  spheroid,  something  like  an  orange. 
Now  the  axes  of  rotation,  or  tlie  diameters  upon  which  such 
a body  may  be  made  to  turn  round,  are  as  many  as  can  be 
drawn  through  its  centre  to  opposite  points  upon  its  whole 
surface:  but  of  these  axes  none  are  permanent,  except 
either  its  shortest«diameter,  i.  e.  that  which  passes  through 
the  heart  of  the  orange  from  the  place  where  the  stalk  is 
inserted  into  it,  and  which  is  but  one;  or  its  longest  diame- 
ters, at  right  angles  with  the  former,  which  must  all  ter- 
minate in  the  single  circumference  which  goes  round  the 
thickest  part  of  the  orange.  The  shortest  diameter  is 
that  upon  which  in  fact  the  earth  turns;  and  it  is,  as  the 
reader  sees,  what  it  ought  to  be,  a permanent  axis;  where- 


ASTRONOMY. 


217 


as,  had  blind  chance,  had  a casual  impulse,  had  a stroke  or 
push  at  random,  set  the  earth  a-spinning,  the  odds  were  in- 
fin  ^te,  but  that  they  had  sent  it  round  upon  a wrong  axis 
And  what  would  have  been  the  consequence?  The  differ- 
ence between  a permanent  axis  and  another  axis  is  this.^ 
When  a spheroid  in  a state  of  rotatory  motion  gets  upon  a per- 
manent axis,  it  keeps  there;  it  remains  steady  and  faithful  to 
its  position;  its  poles  preserve  their  direction  with  respect 
to  the  plane  and  to  the  centre  of  its  orbit:  but  whilst  it 
turns  upon  an  axis  which  is  not  permanent,  (and  the  num- 
ber of  those  we  have  seen  infinitely  exceeds  the  number 
of  the  other,)  it  is  always  liable  to  shift  and  vacillate  from 
one  axis  to  another,  with  a corresponding  change  in  the 
inclination  of  its  poles.  Therefore,  if  a planet  once  set  off 
revolving  upon  any  other  than  its  shortest,  or  one  of  its  long- 
est axis,  the  poles  on  its  surface  would  keep  perpetually 
changing,  and  it  never  would  attain  a permanent  axis  of 
rotation.  The  effect  of  this  unfixedness  and  instability 
would  be,  that  the  equatorial  parts  of  the  earth  might  be- 
come the  polar,  or  the  polar  the  equatorial;  to  the  utter  de- 
struction of  plants  and  animals,  which  are  not  capable  of 
interchanging  their  situations,  but  are  respectively  adapted 
to  their  own.  As  to  ourselves,  instead  of  rejoicing  in  our 
temperate  zone,  and  annually  preparing  for  the  moderate 
vicissitude,  or  rather  the  agreeable  succession  of  seasons 
which  we  experience  and  expect,  we  might  come  to  be 
locked  up  in  the  ice  and  darkness  of  the  arctic  circle,  with 
bodies  neither  inured  to  its  [rigors,  nor  provided  with  shel- 
ter or  defence  against  them.  Nor  would  it  be  much  bet- 
ter, if  the  trepidation  of  our  pole,  taking  an  opposite  course, 
should  place  us  under  the  heats  of  a vertical  sun.  But  if 
it  would  fare  so  ill  with  the  human  inhabitant,  who  can 
live  under  greater  varieties  of  latitude  than  any  other  aiii- 
mal;  still  more  noxious  would  this  translation  of  climate 
have  proved  to  life  in  the  rest  of  the  creation ; and  most 
perhaps  of  all,  in  plants.  The  habitable  earth,  and  its 
beautiful  variety,  might  have  been  destroyed  by  a simple 
mischance  in  the  axis  of  rotation.* 

* The  earth  being  an  oblate  spheroid,  we  may  suppose  it  to  be  cut  by 
a plane  passing  through  A B,  Fig.  3,  Plate  XXXIX,  whicn  may  represent 
its  axis,  and  the  common  section  of  this  plane  with  the  spheroid  will  be 
an  ellipse  like  A f)  B E ; of  this  ellipse  A B will  be  an  axis  ; and,  from 
the  property  of  the  curve,  it  will  also  be  the  shortest  line  w'hich  can 
be  drawn  through  the  centre  C.  If  now  the  diameter  D E be  drawn  at 
right  angles  to  A B,  it  will  be  the  longest  line  which  can  be  drawn  in  the 
ellipse,  and  it  will  represent  a diameter  of  the  equatcr.  As  the  plane 

T 


ASTRONOMY. 


ei8 

III.  All  this,  however,  proceeds  upon  a supposition  ol 
the  earth  having  been  formed  at  first  an  oblate  spheroid 
There  is  another  supposition ; and  perhaps  our  limited  in  - 
formation will  not  enable  us  to  decide  between  them.  The 
second  supposition  is,  that  the  earth,  being  a mixed  mass 
somewhat  fluid,  took,  as  it  might  do,  its  present  form,  by 
the  joint  action  of  the  mutual  gravitation  of  its  parts  and 
its  rotatory  motion.  This,  as  we  have  said,  is  a point  in 
the  history  of  the  earth  which  our  observations  are  not 
sufficient  to  determine.  For  a very  small  depth  below  the 
surface  (but  extremely  small,  less,  perhaps,  than  an  eight- 
thousandthl  part,  compared  with  the  depth  of  the  centre) 
we  find  vestiges  of  ancient  fluidity.  But  this  fluidity  must 
have  gone  down  many  hundred  times  farther  than  we  can 
penetrate,  to  enable  the  earth  to  take  its  present  oblate 
form;  and  whether  any  traces  of  this  kind  exist  to  that 
depth,  we  are  ignorant.  Calculations  were  made  a few 
years  ago,  of  the  mean  density  of  the  earth,  by  comparing 
the  force  of  its  attraction  with  the  force  of  attraction  of  a 
rock  of  granite,  the  bulk  of  which  could  be  ascertained: 
and  the  upshot  of  the  calculation  was,  that  the  earth  upon 
an  average,  through  its  whole  sphere,  has  twice  fhe  density 
of  granite,  or  about  five  times  that  of  water.  Therefore  it 
" cannot  be  a hollow  shell,  as  some  have  formerly  supposed; 
nor  can  its  internal  parts  be  occupied  by  central  fire,  or  by 
water.  The  solid  parts  must  greatly  exceed  the  fluid  parts; 
and  the  probability  is,  that  it  is  a solid  mass  throughout, 
composed  of  substances  more  ponderous  the  deeper  we  go. 
Nevertheless,  we  may  conceive  the  present  face  of  the 
earth  to  have  originated  from  the  revolution  of  a sphere, 
covered  by  a surface  of  a compound  mixture;  the  fluid  and 
solid  parts  separating,  as  the  surface  becomes  quiescent. 
Here  then  comes  in  the  moderating  hand  of  the  Creator. 
If  the  water  had  exceeded  its  present  proportion,  even  but 
by  a trifling  quantity  compared  with  the  whole  globe,  ail 

passing  through  A B is  not  confined  to  one  situation  more  than  anothci, 
D E may  represent  any  “ one  of  the  longest  axes  of  the  spheroid,”  and 
will,  as  well  is  A B,  always  be  a “ permanent  axis  of  rotation.”  But 
if  any  other  c ameter,  as  G II,  is  taken,  the  earth  could  not  continue  to 
revolve  permi.  lently  about  it. — Paxton. 

t The  “ deep  St.  John,”  one  of  the  deepest  mines  in  the  Hartz,  was 
found  by  M.  Deluc  to  sink  1359  feet.  This  was  in  1778,  and  it  may, 
since  that  time,  have  been  carried  lower,  but  probably  not  to  the  depth 
of  the  mine  of  Valenciana  in  New  Spain,  the  bottom  of  which,  according 
to  Humboldt,  is  1681  feet  below  the  surface.  Now  the  diameter  of  the 
earth  being  about  7912  miles,  “ the  eight-thousandth  part  of  the  depth  o 
the  centre”  must  be  2611  feet,  or  nearly  half  a mile. — Ibid, 


ASTRONOMY. 


219 


the  land  would  have  oeen  covered:  had  there  been  much 
less  than  there  is,  there  would  not  have  been  enough  to 
lertilize  the  continent.*  Had  the  exsiccation  been  pro- 
gressive, such  as  we  may  suppose  to  have  been  produced 
by  an  evaporating  heat,  how  came  it  to  stop  at  the  point  at 
which  we  see  it.^  Why  did  it  not  stop  sooner;  why  at  all? 
The  mandate  of  the  Deity  Avill  account  for  this;  nothing 
else  will. 

IV.  Of  centripetal  forces.  By  virtue  of  the  simplest 
law  that  can  be  imagined,  viz.  that  a body  continues  in 
the  state  in  which  it  is,  whether  of  motion  or  rest;  and  if  in 
motion,  goes  on  in  the  line  in  which  it  was  proceeding, 
and  with  the  same  velocity,  unless  there  be  some  cause  for 
change:  by  virtue,  I say,  of  this  law,  it  comes  to  pass 
(what  may  appear  to  be  a strange  consequence)  that  cases 
arise,  in  which  attraction,  incessantly  drawing  a body  to- 
wards a centre,  never  brings,  nor  ever  will  bring,  the  body 
to  that  centre,  but  keep  it  in  eternal  circulation  round  it. 
If  it  were  possible  to  fire  off  a cannon  ball  with  a velocity 
of  five  miles  in  a second,  and  the  resistance  of  the  air  could 
be  taken  away,  the  cannon  ball  would  forever  wheel  round 
the  earth,  instead  of  falling  down  upon  it.f  This  is  the 
principle  which  sustains  the  heavenly  motions.  The  Deity, 
having  appointed  this  law  to  matter,  (than  which,  as  we 
have  said  before,  no  law  could  be  more  simple,)  has  turned 
it  to  a wonderful  account  in  constructing  planetary  systems. 

The  actuating  cause  in  these  systems,  is  an  attraction, 
which  varies  reciprocally  as  the  square  of  the  distance; 
that  is,  at  double  the  distance,  has  a quarter  of  the  force; 
at  half  the  distance  four  times  the  strength;  and  so  on. 
Now,  concerning  this  law  of  variation,  we  have  three 
th‘ngs  to  observe:  First;  that  attraction,  for  anything  we 
Know  about  it,  was  just  as  capable  of  one  law  of  variation 

* Nearly  three  quarters  of  the  earth’s  surface  are  covered  by  the  sea. 
Now  evaporation  is  proportionate  to  the  surface  of  the  fluid,  and  conse- 
quently a less  expanse  of  waters  would  not  have  aiTorded  a sufficient  sup- 
ply of  rain,  which  does  not  now  fall  upon  the  whole,  in  greater  quantities 
than  are  required  “ to  fertilize  the  earth.” — Paxton. 

t If  a body  be  projected  horizontally  from  a station  A,  Fig.  6,  Plate 
XXXIX,  which  is  at  a certain  height,  its  weight  or  the  force  of  gravity 
will  draw  it  towards  the  earth.  It  may  be  supposed  to  come  down, 
for  example,  at  B.  But  from  the  tendency  which  the  body  has  to  con 
tinue  in  the  state  of  motion  which  is  communicated  to  it,  it  will  be  carri 
ed  farther  before  it  falls,  if  it  is  projected  with  a greater  force.  Hence, 
if  this  force  be  increased  it  may  be  made  to  reach  C ; by  a greater  increase, 
it  may  be  carried  to  D;  or  even  round  to  A,  from  whence  it  originally 
set  out. — Ibid. 


220 


ASTRONOMY 


as  of  another:  Secondly;  that  out  of  an  infinite  number  A 
possible  laws,  those  which  were  adniissible  for  the  purpose 
of  supporting  the  heavenly  motions,  lay  within  certain  nar- 
row limits.*  Thirdly;  that  of  the  admissible  laws,  or  those 
which  come  within  the  limits  prescribed,  the  law  that  actu 
ally  prevails  is  the  most  beneficial.  So  far  as  these  propo- 
sitions  can  be  made  out,  we  may  be  said,  I think,  to  prove 
choice  and  regulation;  choice,  out  of  boundless  variety; 
and  regulation,  of  that  which,  by  its  own  nature,  was,  in 
respect  of  the  property  regulated,  indifferent  and  inde- 
finite. 

First  then,  attraction,  for  anything  we  know  about  it, 
was  originally  indifferent  to  all  laws  of  variation  depend- 
ing upon  change  of  distance,  i.  e.  just  as  susceptible  of  one 
law  as  of  another.  It  might  have  been  the  same  at  all 
distances;  it  might  have  increased  as  the  distance  increas- 
ed: or  it  might  have  diminished  with  the  increase  of  .the 
distance,  yet  in  ten  thousand  different  proportions  from 
the  present;  it  might  have  followed  no  stated  law  at  all. 
If  attraction  be  what  Cotes,  with  many  other  Newtonians, 
have  thought  it  to  be,  a primordial  property  of  matter,  not 
dependent  upon,  or  traceable  to,  any  other  material  cause; 
then,  by  the  very  nature  and  definition  of  a primordial 
property,  it  stood  indifferent  to  all  laws.  If  it  be  the  agen- 
cy of  something  immaterial,  then  also,  for  anything  we 
know  of  it,  it  was  indifferent  to  ail  laws.  If  the  revolu- 
tion of  bodies  round  a centre  depend  upon  vortices,  nei- 
ther are  these  limited  to  one  law  more  than  another. 

There  is,  I know,  an  account  given  of  attraction,  which 
should  seem,  in  its  very  cause,  to  assign  to* it  the  law 
which  we  find  it  to  observe ; and  which,  therefore,  makes 
that  law,  a law,  not  of  choice,  but  of  necessity:  and  it  is 
the  account,  which  ascribes  attraction  to  an  emanation 
from  the  attracting  body.  It  is  probable,  that  the  influence 
of  such  an  emanation  will  be  proportioned  to  the  spissitude 
of  the  rays  of  which  it  is  composed;  which  spissitude, 
supposing  the  rays  to  issue  in  right  lines  on  all  sides  from 
a point,  will  be  reciprocally  as  the  square  of  the  distance.* 

* Let  the  light  of  a candle  fall  upon  a square  object  like  A B C D,  Fig. 
4,  Plate  XXXIX,  and  if  a screen  be  placed  parallel  to  the  object  and  at 
double  the  distance,  the  shadow  F.  F G II,  received  upon  it,  will  be  I*>ur 
times  the  size  of  the  object  itself.  For  the  rays  passing  in  straight  lines 
by  the  angles  A,  B,  C,  J),  the  sides  F F,  F CJ,  (ji  II,  II  F.,  must  be  each 
double  of  A B,  B C,  C i),  J)  A:  therefore  the  shadow  may  be  divided 
into  four  squares  each  equal  in  size  to  the  object.  At  three  times  the  dis- 
tance from  the  candle,  the  sides  of  the  shadow  would  each  be  three  times 
a.s  large  as  the  sides  of  the  object,  and  its  area  would,  therefore,  contain 


ASTRONOMY. 


22  \ 


The  mathematics  of  this  solution  we  do  not  call  in  question 
the  question  with  us  is,  whether  there  be  any  sufficient 
reason  to  believe,  that  attraction  is  produced  by  an  eman- 
ation. For  my  part,  I am  totally  at  a loss  to  comprehend 
now  particles  streaming  from  a centre  should  draw  a bodv 
towards  it.  The  impulse,  if  impulse  it  be,  is  all  the  other 
way.  Nor  shall  we  find  less  difficulty  in  conceiving  a con- 
flux of  particles,  incessantly  flowing  to  a centre,  and  car- 
rying down  all  bodies  along  with  it,  that  centre  also 
itself  being  in  a state  of  rapid  motion  through  absolute 
space:  for  by  what  source  is  the  stream  fed,  or  what  be- 
comes of  the  accumulation?  Add  to  which,  that  it  seems 
to  imply  a contrariety  of  properties,  to  suppose  an  ethereal 
fluid  to  act,  but  not  to  resist;  powerful  enough  to  carry 
down  bodies  with  great  force  towards  a centre,  yet,  in- 
consistently with  the  nature  of  inert  matter,  powerless  and 
perfectly  yielding  with  respect  to  the  motions  which  result 
ffom  the  projectile  impulse.  By  calculations  drawn  from 
ancient  notices  of  eclipses  of  the  moon,  we  can  prove  that, 
if  such  a fluid  exist  at  all,  its  resistance  has  had  no  sensi- 
ble effect  upon  the  moon’s  motion  for  two  thousand  five 
hundred  years.  The  truth  is,  that,  except  this  one 
circumstance  of  the  variation  of  the  attracting  force  at 
different  distances  agreeing  with  the  variation  of  the 
spissitude,  there  is  no  reason  whatever  to  support  the 
hypothesis  of  an  emanation;  and,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
almost  insuperable  reasons  against  it. 

(*)  II.  Our  second  proposition  is,  that  whilst  the  pos- 
sible laws  of  variation  were  infinite,  the  admissible  laws, 
or  the  laws  compatible  with  the  preservation  of  the  system, 
lie  within  narrow  limits.  If  the  attracting  force  had  va- 
ried according  to  any  direct  law  of  the  distance,  let  it  have 
been  what  it  would,  great  destruction  and  confusion  would 
have  taken  place.  The  direct  simple  proportion  of  the 
distance  would,  it  is  true,  have  produced  an  ellipse,  but 
the  perturbing  forces  would  have  acted  with  so  much  ad- 
vantage, as  to  be  continually  changing  the  dimensions  of 
the  ellipse,  in  a manner  inconsistent  with  our  terrestrial 

nine  times  the  space.  For  the  same  reason  if  the  distance  be  increased 
four,  five,  or  six  times,  the  area  of  the  shadow  will  contain  sixteen,  twenty- 
five,  or  thirty-six  squares,  each  equal  to  the  object.  Now  the  quantity 
of  light  which  falls  upon  the  object  would,  if  it  had  not  been  intercepted, 
have  spread  over  that  part  of  the  screen,  which  is  occupied  by  the  shad- 
ow; and  as  the  surface  is  increased,  over  which  a certain  quantity  of  rays 
IS  spread,  in  the  same  ratio  their  spissitude  or  density  will  be  diminished; 
consequently  this-  spissitude  will  be  reciprocally  as  the  squares  of  the  dis- 
tances— Paxton,  * 


ASTRONOMY. 


22^2 


creation  For  instance;  if  the  planet  Saturn,  so  large  and 
so  remote,  had  attracted  the  earth,  both  in  proportion  to 
the  quantity  of  matter  contained  in  it,  which  it  does;  ctnd 
also  in  any  proportion  to  its  distance;  i.  e.  if  it  had  pulled 
the  harder  for  being  the  farther  off,  (instead  of  the  reverse 
of  it,)  it  would  have  dragged  out  of  its  course  the  globe 
which  we  inhabit,  and  have  perplexed  its  motions,  to  a de- 
gree incompatible  with  our  security,  our  enjoyments,  and 
probably  our  existence.  Of  the  inverse  laws,  if  the  cen- 
tripetal force  had  changed  as  the  cube  of  the  distance,  or 
in  any  higher  proportion,  that  is  (for  I speak  to  the  un 
learned,)  if,  at  double  the  distance,  the  attractive  force  had 
been  diminished  to  an  eighth  part,  or  to  less  than  that,  the 
consequence  would  have  been,  that  the  planets,  if  they 
once  began  to  approach  the  sun,  would  have  fallen  into  his 
body;  if  they  once,  though  by  ever  so  little,  increased 
their  distance  from  the  centre,  would  forever  have  receded 
from  it.  The  laws,  therefore,  of  attraction,  by  which  a 
system  of  revolving  bodies  could  be  upholden  in  their  mo- 
tions, lie  within  narrow  limits,  compared  with  the  possible 
laws.  I much  underrate  the  re^^ric.ion,  when  I say  that, 
in  a scale  of  a mile,  they  are  confined  to  an  inch.  All 
direct  ratios  of  the  distance  are  excluded,  on  account  of 
danger  from  perturbing  forces;  all  reciprocal  ratios,  except 
what  lie  beneath  the  cube  of  the  distance,  by  the  demon- 
strable consequence,  that  every  the  least  change  of  distance 
would,  under  the  operation  of  such  laws,  have  been  fatal  to 
the  repose  and  order  of  the  system.  We  do  not  know, 
that  is,  we  seldom  reflect,  how  interested  we  are  in  this 
matter.  Small  irregularities  may  be  endured;  but  changes 
within  these  limits  being  allowed  for,  the  permanency  of 
our  ellipse  is  a question  of  life  and  death  to  our  whole  sen- 
sitive world. 

(*)  III.  That  the  subsisting  law  of  attraction  falls 
within  the  limits  which  utility  requires,  when  these  limits 
bear  so  small  a proportion  to  the  range  of  possibilities  upon 
which  chance  might  equally  have  cast  it,  is  not,  with  any 
appearance  of  reason,  to  be  accounted  for  by  any  othei 
cause  than  a regulation  proceeding  from  a designing  mind. 
But  our  next  proposition  carries  the  matter  somewhat  I’ar- 
ther.  We  say,  in  the  third  place,  that,  out  of  the  different 
laws  which  lie  within  the  limits  of  admissible  laws,  the 
best  is  made  choice  of;  that  there  are  advantages  in  this 
particular  law  which  cannot  be  demonstrated  to  belong  to 
any  other  law;  and,  concerning  some  of  which,  it  can  be 
demonstrated  that  they  do  not  belong  to^any  othei 


ASTRONOMY 


223 


1.  Whilst  this  law  prevails  between  each  particle 
of  matter,  the  united  attraction  of  a sphere,  composed  of 
that  matter,  observes  the  same  law.  This  property  of  the 
law  is  necessary,  to  render  it  applicable  to  a system  com- 
posed of  spheres,  but  it  is  a property  which  belongs  to  no 
other  law  of  attraction  that  is  admissible.  The  law  of  va- 
riation of  the  united  attraction  is  m no  other  case  the  same 
as  the  law  of  attraction  of  each  particle,  one  case  except- 
ed, and  that  is  of  the  attraction  varying  directly  as  the  dis- 
tance;^ the  inconveniency  of  which  law,  in  other  respects, 
we  have  already  noticed. 

We  may  follow  this  regulation  somewhat  farther,  and  still 
more  strikingly  perceive  that  it  proceeded  from  a designing 
mind.  A law  both  admissible  and  convenient  was  requisite. 
In  what  way  is  the  law  of  the  attracting  globes  obtained.^ 
Astronomical  observations  and  terrestrial  experiments 
show,  that  the  attraction  of  the  globes  of  the  system  is  made 
up  of  the  attraction  of  their  parts;  the  attraction  of  each 
globe  being  compounded  of  the  attractions  of  its  parts.  Now, 
the  admissible  and  convenient  law  which  exists,  could  not 
be  obtained  in  a system  of  bodies  gravitating  by  the  united 
gravitation  of  their  parts,  unless  each  particle  of  matter 
were  attracted  by  a force  varying  by  one  particular  law, 
viz.  varying  inversely  as  the  square  of  the  distance;  for,  if 
the  action  of  the  particles  be  according  to  any  other  law 
whatever,  the  admissible  and  convenient  law  which  is  adopt- 
ed could  not  be  obtained.  Here  then  are  clearly  shown  reg- 
ulation and  design.  A law  both  admissible  and  convenient 
was  to  be  obtained:  the  mode  chosen  for  obtaining  that  law 
was  by  making  each  particle  of  matter  act.  After  this  choice 
was  made,  then  farther  attention  was  to  be  given  to  each 
particle  of  matter,  and  one,  and  one  only  particular  law  of 
action  to  be  assigned  to  it.  No  other  law  would  have  an- 
swered the  purpose  intended. 

(^)  2.  All  systems  must  be  liable  to  perturbations.  And 
therefore,  to  guard  against  these  perturbations,  or  rather  to 
guard  against  their  running  to  destructive  lengths,  is  p(3r- 
haps  the  strongest  evidence  of  care  and  foresight  that  can 
be  g'ven.  Now  we  are  able  to  demonstrate  of  our  law  of 

* Let  A,  Fig.  5,  Plate  XXXIX,  represent  a sphere  composed  of  par- 
ticks,  which  mutually  attract  each  other  with  a force,  which  varies  re- 
c'procally  as  the  squares  of  the  distances  ; their  united  attraction,  on  a 
similar  particle  P without  the  sphere,  will  be  according  to  the  same  law* 
that  is,  the  particle  will  be  attracted  towards  the  sphere  with  a force, 
which  will  also  vary  reciprocally  as  the  square  of  C P,  its  distance  from 
the  centre  of  the  sphere. — Paxton. 


224 


ASTRONOMY. 


attraction,  what  can  be  demonstrated  of  no  other,  and  what 
qualifies  the  dangers  which  arise  from  cross  but  unavoidable 
influences,  that  the  action  of  the  parts  of  our  system  upon 
one  another  will  not  cause  permanently  increasing  irregu- 
larities, but  merely  periodical  or  vibratory  ones;  that  is, 
they  wfll  come  to  a limit,  and  then  go  back  again.  This  we 
can  demonstrate  only  of  a system,  in  which  the  following 
properties  concur,  viz.  that  the  force  shall  be  inversely  as 
the  square  of  the  distance;^  the  masses  of  the  revolving  bo- 
dies small,  compared  with  that  of  the  body  at  the  centre;  the 
orbits  not  much  inclined  to  one  another;  and  their  eccen- 
tricity little.  Tn  such  a system  the  grand  points  are  secure. 
The  mean  distances  and  periodic  times,  upon  which  depend 
our  temperature  and  the  regularity  of  our  year,  are  constant. 
The  eccentricities,  it  is  true,  will  still  vary,^but  so  slowly, 
and  to  so  small  an  extent,  as  to  produce  no  mconveniency 
from  fluctuation  of  temperature  and  season.  The  same  as 
to  the  obliquity  of  the  planes  of  the  orbits.  For  instance, 
the  inclination  of  the  ecliptic  to  the  equator  will  never 
change  above  two  degrees,  (out  of  ninety,)  and  that  will 
require  many  thousand  years  in  performing. 

It  has  been  rightly  also  remarked,  that  if  the  great 
planets,  Jupiter  and  Saturn,  had  moved  in  lower  spheres, 
their  influences  would  have  had  much  more  effect,  as  to 
disturbing  the  planetary  motions,  than  they  now  have. 
While  they  revolve  at  so  great  distances  from  the  rest,  they 
act  almost  equally  on  the  sun  and  on  the  inferior  planets; 
which  has  nearly  the  same  consequence  as  not  acting  at  all 
upon  either. 

If  it  be  said  that  the  planets  might  have  been  sent  round 
the  sun  in  exact  circles,  in  which  case,  no  change  of  dis- 
tance from  the  centre  taking  place,  the  law  of  variation  of 
the  attracting  power  would  have  never  come  in  question, 
one  law  would  have  served  as  well  as  another;  an  answer 
to  the  scheme  may  be  drawn  from  the  consideration  of  these 
same  perturbing  forces.  The  system  retaining  in  otlier 
respects  its  present  constitution,  though  the  planets  had 
been  at  first  sent  round  in  exact  circular  orbits,  they  could 
not  have  kept  them:  and  if  the  law  of  attraction  had  not 
been  what  it  is,  or,  at  least,  if  the  prevailing  law  had  trans- 
gressed the  limits  above  assigned,  every  evagation  would 
have  been  fatal:  the  planet  once  drawn,  as  drawn  it  neces- 
sarily must  have  been,  out  of  its  course,  would  have  wan- 
dered in  endless  error. 

(*)  V.  What  we  have  seen  in  the  law  of  the  centripeta* 
force,  viz.  a choice  guided  by  views  of  utility,  and  a choice 


ASTRONOMY 


223 


of  one  aw  out  of  thousands  which  mignt  equall}^  have 
taken  p ace,  we  see  no  less  in  the  figures  of  the  planetary 
orbits.  It  was  not  enough  to  fix  the  law  of  the  centripetal 
force,  though  by  the  wisest  choice;  for  even  under  that 
law,  it  was  still  competent  to  the  planets  to  have  moved  in 
paths  possessing  so  great  a degree  of  eccentricity,  as,  in 
the  course  of  every  revolution,  to  be  brought  very  near  to 
the  sun,  and  carried  away  to  immense  distances  from  him. 
The  comets  actually  move  in  orbits  of  this  sort;  and  had 
the  planets  done  so,  instead  of  going  round  in  orbits  near 
ly  circular,  the  change  from  one  extremity  of  temperature 
to  another  must,  in  ours  at  least,  have  destroyed  every  ani* 
mal  and  plant  upon  its  surface.  Now,  the  distance  from 
the  centre  at  which  a planet  sets  off,  and  the  absolute 
force  of  attraction  at  that  distance,  being  fixed,  the  figure 
of  his  orbit,  its  being  a circle,  or  nearer  to,  or  farther  off 
from  a circle,  viz.  a rounder  or  a longer  oval,  depends 
upon  two  things,  the  velocity  with  which,  and  the  direction 
in  which,  the  planet  is  projected.  And  these,  in  order  to 
produce  a right  result,  must  be  both  brought  within  certain 
narrow  limits.  One,  and  only  one,  velocity  united  with 
one,  and  only  one,  direction,  will  produce  a perfect  circle. 
And  the  velocity  must  be  near  to  this  velocity,  and  the  di- 
rection also  near  to  this  direction,  to  produce  orbits,  such 
as  the  planetary  orbits  are,  nearly  circular ; that  is,  ellipses 
with  small  eccentricities.  The  velocity  and  the  direction 
must  both  be  right.  If  the  velocity  be  wrong,  no  direction 
will  cure  the  error;  if  the  direction  be  in  any  considerable 
degree  oblique,  no  velocity  will  produce  the  orbit  required. 
Take  for  example  the  attraction  of  gravity  at  the  surface  of 
the  earth.  The  force  of  that  attraction  being  what  it  is,  out 
of  all  the  degrees  of  velocity,  swift  and  slow,  with  which  a 
ball  might  be  shot  off,  none  would  answer  the  purpose  of 
which  we  are  speaking,  but  what  was  nearly  that  of  five 
miles  in  a second.*  If  it  were  less  than  that,  the  body 

* The  moon  describes  in  one  second  of  time  nearly  two-thirds  of  a 
mile  in  its  orbit  round  the  earth:  and  if  its  distance  were  dimhiished  it 
might  still  continue  to  revolve  nearly  in  a circle  round  the  same  centre, 
if  its  velocity  were  increased  so  as  to  compensate  for  the  greater  attrac- 
tion, which  would  now  draw  it  constantly  out  of  the  rectilinear  direc 
tion,  in  which  it  would  otherwise  move-  This  distance  nay  be  supposed 
to  be  diminished  till  the  moon  is  brought  near  to  the  earth’s  surface,  and 
t would,  under  these  circumstances,  still  continue  to  complete  us  revolu- 
tion, if  its  velocity  were  increased  to  about  five  miles  in  a second.  Now 
for  the  descriptijn  of  such  a revolution,  there  is  no  difference  between 
the  moon  and  any  other  material  substance  at  the  same  distance;  for  they 
would  boc  1 be  drawn  down  through  the  same  space  in  the  same  time  by 


226 


ASTRONOMY. 


won  d not  get  round  at  all,  but  would  come  to  the  ground^ 
if  it  were  in  any  considerable  degree  more  than  that,  the 
body  would  take  one  of  those  eccentric  courses,  those  long 
ellipses  of  which  we  have  noticed  the  inconveniency.*  If 
the  velocity  reached  the  rate  of  seven  miles  in  a second, 
or  went  beyond  that,  the  ball  would  fly  off  from  the  earth, 
and  never  be  heard  of  more.  In  like  manner  with  respect 
to  the  direction;  out  of  the  innumerable  angles  in  which 
he  ba'l  might  be  sent  off,  (I  mean  angles  formed  with  a 
line  drawn  to  the  centre,)  none  would  serve  but  what  was 
nearly  a right  one;  out  of  the  various  directions  in  which 
the  cannon  might  be  pointed,  upwards  and  downwards, 
every  one  would  fail,  but  what  was  exactly  or  nearly  hori- 

the  force  of  attraction  towards  the  earth’s  centre;  and  therefore  a cannon 
ball  projected  parallel  to  the  horizon  with  this  velocity  would  (if  there 
were  no  resistance  from  the  air  or  other  accidental  circumstance)  com- 
plete its  circular  revolution,  and  come  back  to  the  place  from  which  it 
had  set  out,  in  a few  minutes  less  than  an  hour  and  a half,  which  is 
equivalent  to  the  velocity  of  about  five  miles  in  a second. — Paxton. 

The  ball  is  supposed  to  be  fired  from  a place  not  far  from  the  earth’s 
surface,  it  can  therefore  be  easily  conceived  that  if  its  direction  is  much 
depressed  below  the  horizon,  it  must  be  soon  brought  down  to  the  ground; 
but  it  is  not  equally  obvious  that  an  elevation  of  any  magnitude  would 
ikewise  prevent  its  completing  its  revolution  round  the  earth.  Abstract- 
ing from  the  air’s  resistance,  and  of  course  omitting  the  supposition  of  a 
projectile  force  sufficient  to  carry  the  ball  off  into  infinite  space,  it  will 
move  in  the  curve  of  an  ellipse,  of  which  one  of  the  foci  is  situated  in 
the  centre  of  the  earth.  Now  a body  moving  uninterruptedly  in  an 
ellipse  must  return  in  time  to  the  same  point  from  which  it  set  out.  The 
body  therefore  which,  when  projected  from  A,  Fig.  6,  PI.  XXXIX, 
comes  down  to  the  earth  at  C,  would  have  continued  its  course  along 
the  dotted  line  and  returned  to  A,  if  the  mass  of  matter  in  the  earth  had 
Deen  collected  together  at  its  centre,  so  as  not  to  interfere  with  the  mo- 
tion of  the  projectile.  Let  us  now  conceive  the  body  to  be  projected 
back  from  C,  with  the  velocity  which  it  had  acquired  in  its  fall,  and 
with  the  direction  in  which  it  reached  the  earth,  it  would  then  pass 
through  A,  and  come  down  on  the  other  side  of  A I,  in  just  the  same 
curve,  in  which  it  had  fallen  from  A to  C.  The  same  would  apply  to 
bodies  projected  upwards  from  15  or  D;  and  if  the  velocities  of  projec- 
tion were  less  or  greater  than  what  would  have  been  acquired  in  filling 
from  A,  the  bodies  would  still  turn,  but  at  some  less  or  more  distant 
point.  The  longest  diameter,  however,  of  the  ellipsis  in  which  they 
move  must  always  pass  through  the  earth’s  centre,  and  if  the  bodies  rise 
on  one  side  of  this  diameter  they  must  fall  down  on  the  other.  Now  it 
will  be  seen  that  the  curves  at  15,  C,  and  I),  make  the  angles  AT51,  AFI, 
ADI  less,  as  the  body  is  supposed  to  go  farther  and  farther  befoie  it  falls, 
and  that  the  curves,  in  which  tire  hotly  can  complete  a revolution  near 
the  suifice,  will  in  all  its  parts  be  nearly  parallel  to  it.  Hence  tie  can- 
aon  ball  fired  upwards  will  come  back  again  to  the  ground  and  not  be 
able  completely  to  go  round  the  eaith  upon  any  other  supposition  except 
ng  that  of  its  being  fired  in  nearly  an  horizontal  direction. — Paxton, 


ASTRONOMY. 


227 


zontal.  The  same  thing  holds  true  o he  y)lanets;  of  out 
own  among  the  rest.  We  are  entitled,  therefore,  to  ask, 
and  to  urge  the  question.  Why  did  .the  projectile  velocity 
and  projectile  direction  of  the  earth  happen  to  be  near- 
ly those  which  would  retain  it  in  a circular  form?  Why 
not  one  of  the  infinite  number  of  velocities,  one  of  the 
infinite  number  of  directions,  which  would  have  made  it 
approach  much  nearer  to,  or  recede  much  farther  from,  the 
aim  ? 

The  planets  going  round,  all  in  the  same  direction,  and 
all  nearly  in  the  same  plane,  afforded  to  Buffon  a ground 
for  asserting,  that  they  had  all  been  shivered  from  the  sun 
by  the  same  stroke  of  a comet,  and  by  that  stroke  project- 
ed into  their  present  orbits.  Now,  besides  that  this  is  to 
attribute  to  chance  the  fortunate  concurrence  of  velocity 
and  direction  which  we  have  been  here  noticing,  the  hy- 
pothesis, as  I apprehend,  is  inconsistent  with  the  physical 
^ws  by  which  the  heavenly  motions  are  governed.  If  the 
planets  were  struck  off  from  the  surface  of  the  sun,  they 
would  return  to  the  sun  again.  Nor  will  this  difficulty  be 
got  rid  of,  by  supposing  that  the  same  violent  blow  which 
shattered  the  sun’s  surface,  and  separated  large  fragments 
from  it,  pushed  the  sun  himself  out  of  his  place;  for  the 
consequence  of  this  would  be,  that  the  sun  and  system 
of  shattered  fragments  would  have  a progressive  motion, 
which  indeed  may  possibly  be  the  case  with  our  system; 
but  then  each  fragment  would,  in  every  revolution,  return 
to  the  surface  of  the  sun  again.  The  hypothesis  is  also 
contradicted  by  the  vast  difference  which  subsists  between 
the  diameters  of  the  planetary  orbits.  The  distance  of 
Saturn  from  the  sun  (to  say  nothing  of  the  Georgium  Sidus' 
is  nearly  twenty-five  times  that  of  Mercury;  a disparity 
which  it  seems  impossible  to  reconcile  withBuffon’s  scheme 
Bodies  starting  from  the  same  place,  with  whatever  differ- 
ence of  direction  or  velocity  they  could  set  off,  could  not 
Aave  been  found,  at  these  different  distances  from  the  cen- 
tre, still  retaining  their  nearly  circular  orbits.  They  must 
have  been  carried  to  their  proper  distances  before  they 
were  projected.* 

* “ If  we  suppose  the  matter  of  the  system  to  be  accumulated  in  the 
centre  by  its  gravity,  no  mechanical  principles,  with  the  assistance  of 
this  power  of  gravity  could  separate  the  vast  mass  into  such  parts  as  the 
sun  and  planets;  and  after  carrying  them  to  their  different  distances,  pro- 
ject them  in  their  several  directions,  preserving  still  the  equality  of  action 
and  reaction,  or  the  state  of  the  centre  of  gravity  of  the  system.  Such 
an  exquisite  structure  of  things  could  only  arise  from  the  contrivance  and 


228 


ASTRONOMY. 


To  conclude:  In  astronomy,  the  great  thing  is  to  raise 
the  imagination  to  the  subject,  and  that  oftentimes  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  impression  made  upon  the  senses.  An  allu- 
sion, for  example,  must  be  gotten  over,  arising  from  the 
distance  at  which  we  view  the  heavenly  bodies,  viz.  the 
apparent  slowness  of  their  motions.  The  moon  shall  take 
some  hours  in  getting  half  a yard  from  a star  which  it 
touched.  A motion  so  deliberate,  we  may  think  easily  gui- 
ded. But  what  is  the  fact?  The  moon,  in  fact,  is,  all  this 
while,  driving  through  the  heavens,  at  the  rate  of  consid- 
erably more  than  two  thousand  miles  in  an  hour;  which  is 
more  than  double  of  that  with  which  a ball  is  shot  off  from 
the  mouth  of  a cannon.  Yet  is  this  prodigious  rapidity  as 
much  under  government,  as  if  the  planet  proceeded  ever 
so  slowly,  or  were  conducted  in  its  course  inch  by  inch. 
It  is  also  difficult  to  bring  the  imagination  to  conceive  (what 
yet,  to  ^udge  tolerably  of  the  matter,  it  is  necessary  to  con- 
ceive) how  loosCj  if  we  may  so  express  it,  the  heavenly 
bodies  are.  Enormous  globes,  held  by  nothing,  confined 
by  nothing,  are  turned  into  free  and  boundless  space,  each 
to  seek  its  course  by  the  virtue  of  an  invisible  principle; 
but  a principle,  one,  common,  and  the  same  in  all;  and  as- 
certainable. To  preserve  such  bodies  from  being  lost,  from 
running  together  in  heaps,  from  hindering  and  distracting 
one  another’s  motions,  in  a degree  inconsistent  with  any 
continuing  order;  t.  e.  to  cause  them  to  form  planetary  sys- 
tems, systems  that,  when  formed,  can  be  upheld,  and  more 
especially,  systems  accommodated  to  the  organized  and 
sensitive  natures  which  the  planets  sustain,  as  we  know  to 
be  the  case,  where  alone  we  can  know  what  the  case  is, 
upon  our  earth:  all  this  requires  an  intelligent  interposi- 
tion, because  it  can  be  demonstrated  concerning  it,  that  it 
requires  an  adjustment  of  force,  distance,  direction,  and  ve- 
locity, out  of  the  reach  of  chance  to  have  produced;  an 
adjustment,  in  its  view  to  utility,  similar  to  that  which  we 
see  in  ten  thousand  subjects  of  nature  which  are  nearer  to 
us,  but  in  power,  and  in  extent  of  space  through  which 
that  power  is  exerted,  stupendous. 

But  many  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  as  the  sun  and  fixed 
stars,  are  stationary.  Their  rest  must  be  the  effect  of  an 

powerful  influences  of  an  intelligent,  free,  and  most  potent  agent.  The 
eamo  powers,  therefore,  which  at  present  govern  the  material  universe, 
and  conduct  its  various  motions,  are  vert/  different  from  those  which 
were  necessary  to  have  produced  it  from  nothing,  or  to  have  disposed  it 
in  the  admirable  form  in  which  it  now  proceeds. ** — Maclaut  in' s Ac- 
tount  of  J\''ewton's  Phil.  p.  407,  ed.  3. 


OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


229 


absence  or  of  an  equilibrium  of  attractions.  It  proven  also, 
that  a projectile  impulse  was  originally  given  to  some  of  the 
heavenly  bodies,  and  not  to  others.  But  farther;  if  attrac- 
tion act  at  all  distances,  there  can  be  only  one  quiescent 
centre  of  gravity  in  the  universe:  and  all  bodies  whatever 
must  be  approaching  this  centre,  or  revolving  round  it. 
According  to  the  first  of  these  suppositions,  if  the  duration 
of  the  world  had  been  long  enough  to  allow  of  it,  all  its 
parts,  all  the  great  bodies  of  which  it  is  composed,  must 
have  been  gathered  together  in  a heap  round  this  point. 
No  changes,  however,  which  have  been  observed,  afford  us 
the  smallest  reason  for  believing,  that  either  the  one  su*" 
position  or  the  other  is  true:  and  then  it  will  follow,  that 
attraction  itself  is  controlled  or  suspended  by  a superior 
agent : that  there  is  a power  above  the  highest  of  the  pow- 
ers of  material  nature;  a will  which  restrains  and  circum- 
scribes the  operations  of  the  most  extensive.* 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

OP  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 

Contrivance,  if  established,  appears  to  me  to  prove 
everything  which  we  wish  to  prove.  Amongst  other  things, 
it  proves  the  personality  of  the  Deity,  as  distinguished  from 
what  is  sometimes  called  nature,  sometimes  called  a prin- 

* It  must  here,  however,  be  stated,  that  many  astronomers  deny  that 
any  of  the  heavenly  bodies  are  absolutely  stationary.  Some  of  the 
brightest  of  the  fixed  stars  have  certainly  small  motions;  and  of  the  rest 
the  distance  is  too  great,  and  the  intervals  of  our  observation  too  short, 
to  enable  us  to  pronounce  with  certainty  that  they  may  not  have  the  same. 
The  motions  in  the  fixed  stars  which  have  been  observed,  are  considered 
e’ldier  as  proper  to  each  of  them,  or  as  compounded  of  the  motion  of  our 
sj'stem,  and  of  motions  proper  to  each  star.  By  a comparison  of  these 
motions,  a motion  in  our  system  is  supposed  to  be  discovered.  By  con- 
tinuing this  anology  to  other,  and  to  all  systems,  it  is  possible  to  suppose 
that  attraction  is  unlimited,  and  that  the  whole  material  universe  is  revolv- 
ing round  some  fixed  point  within  its  containing  sphere  or  space. — Foley* 

The  milky  way  is  known  to  derive  its  appearance  from  a congeries  of 
very  small  stars,  but  there  are  luminous  spots  in  the  heaven,  which  cannot 
be  separated  into  distinct  stars  by  the  most  powerful  telescopes;  these 
have  been  observed  in  some  instances  to  alter  their  form,  which  Sir  W. 
Herschell  attributed  to  the  mutual  attraction  of  the  luirinous  particles 
which  composed  them. 


U 


230 


OF  THE  PERSON  A.LITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


ciple:  which  terms,  in  the  mouths  of  those  who  use  them 
philosophically,  seem  to  be  intended  to  admit  and  to  express 
an  efficacy,  but  to  exclude  and  to  deny  a personal  agent. 
Now  that  which  can  contrive,  which  can  design,  must  be 
a person.  These  capacities  constitute  personality,  for  they 
imply  consciousness  and  thought.  They  require  that  which 
can  perceive  an  end  or  purpose;  as  well  as  the  power  of 
providing  means,  and  of  directing  them  to  their  end."^’ 
They  require  a centre  in  which  perceptions  unite,  and  from 
which  volitions  flow;  which  is  mind.  The  acts  of  a mind 
prove  the  existence  of  a mind;  and  in  whatever  a mind 
resides,  is  a person.  The  seat  of  intellect  is  a person 
We  have  no  authority  to  limit  the  properties  of  mind  to 
any  particular  corporeal  form,  or  to  any  particular  circum- 
scription of  space.  These  properties  subsist  in  created 
nature  under  a great  variety  of  sensible  forms.  Also  every 
animated  being  has  its  sensoriiim;  that  is,  a certain  portion 
of  space,  within  which  perception  and  volition  are  exerted. 
This  sphere  may  be  enlarged  to  an  indefinite  extent; 
may  comprehend  the  universe;  and,  being  so  imagined, 
may  serve  to  furnish  us  with  as  good  a notion  as  we  are 
capable  of  forming,  of  the  immensity  of  the  Divine  Nature, 
i.  e,  of  a Being,  infinite,  as  well  in  essence  as  in  power 
yet  nevertheless  a person. 

‘‘  No  man  hath  seen  God  at  anytime.”  And  this,  I be 
lieve,  makes  the  great  difficulty.  Now  it  is  a difficulty 
which  chiefly  arises  from  our  not  duly  estimating  the  state 
of  our  faculties.  The  Deity,  it  is  true,  is  the  object  of 
none  of  our  senses:  but  reflect  what  limited  capacities  an 
imal  senses  are.  Many  animals  seem  to  have  but  one 
sense,  or  perhaps  two  at  the  most;  touch  and  taste.  Ought 
such  an  animal  to  conclude  against  the  existence  of  odors, 
sounds,  and  colors?  To  another  species  is  given  the 
sense  of  smelling.  This  is  an  advance  in  the  knowledge 
of  the  powers  and  properties  of  nature:  but,  if  this  favored 
animal  should  infer  from  its  superiority  over  the  class 
last  described,  that  it  perceived  everything  which  was  per- 
ceptible in  nature,  it  is  known  to  us,  though  perhaps  not 

Some  of  the  fixed  stars  appear  double,  and  even  multiple  when  highly 
magnified.  The  same  great  astronomer,  whom  we  have  just  mentioned, 
was  induced  to  believe  tliat  these  were  separate  systems,  and  his  son, 
assisted  by  Mr.  South,  has  established  that  some  of  them  have  undoubt- 
edly a revolution  round  a common  centre  of  gravity  analogous  to  the 
motions  of  the  sun  and  planets. — Paxton. 

* JPhestley’s  Letters  to  a Philosopliical  Unbeliever,  p.  153,  ed.  2. 


OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


231 


suspected  by  the  animal  itself,  that  it  proceeded  upon  a 
false  and  presumptuous  estimate  of  its  faculties.  To  an 
other  is  added  the  sense  of  hearing;  which  lets  in  a class 
of  sensations  entirely  unconceived  hy  the  animal  before 
spoken  of;  not  only  distinct,  hut  remote  from  any  which  it 
had  ever  experienced,  and  greatly  superior  to  them.  Yet 
this  last  animal  has  no  more  ground  for  believing  that  its 
senses  comprehend  all  things,  and  all  properties  of  things 
which  exist,  than  might  have  been  claimed  by  the  tribes  of 
animals  beneath  it;  for  we  know  that  it  is  still  possible  to 
possess  another  sense,  that  of  sight,  which  shall  disclose 
to  the  percipient  a new  world.  This  fifth  sense  makes  the 
animal  w’hat  the  human  animal  is:  but  to  infer,  that  possi- 
bility stops  here;  that  either  this  fifth  sense  is  the  last 
sense,  or  that  the  five  comprehend  all  existence,  is  just  as 
unwarrantable  a conclusion,  as  that  which  might  have 
been  made  by  any  of  the  different  species  which  possessed 
fewer,  or  even  by  that,  if  such  there  be,  which  possessed 
only  one.  The  conclusion  of  the  one-sense  animal,  and 
the  conclusion  of  the  five-sense  animal,  stand  upon  the 
same  authority.  There  may  be  more  and  other  senses 
than  those  which  we  have.  There  may  be  senses  suited 
to  the  perception  of  the  powers,  properties,  and  substance 
of  spirits.  These  may  belong  to  higher  orders  of  rationa. 
agents:  for  there  is  not  the  smallest  reason  for  supposing 
that  we  are  the  highest,  or  that  the  scale  of  creation  stops 
with  us. 

The  great  energies  of  nature  are  known  to  us  only  b^ 
their  effects.  The  substances  which  produce  them,  are  as 
much  concealed  from  our  senses  as  the  divine  essence  it- 
self. Gravitation,  though  constantly  present,  though  con- 
stantly exerting  its  influence,  though  everywhere  around 
us,  near  us,  and  within  us;  though  diffused  throughout 
all  space,  and  penetrating  the  texture  of  all  bodies  with 
which  we  are  acquainted,  depends,  if  upon  a fluid,  upon  a 
fluid  which,  though  both  powerful  and  universal  in  its 
operation,  is  no  object  of  sense  to  us;  if  upon  any  other 
kind  of  substance  or  action,  upon  a substance  and  action 
from  which  we  receive  no  distinguishable  impressions.  Is 
it  tlien  to  be  wondered  at,  that  it  should,  in  some  measure, 
be  the  same  with  the  Divine  Nature.^ 

Of  this,  however,  we  are  certain,  that  whatever  the  Deity 
be,  neither  the  universe,  nor  any  part  of  it  which  we  see, 
can  be  He.  The  universe  itself  is  merely  a collective 
name:  its  parts  are  all  which  are  real;  or  which  are  things. 
Now  inert  matter  is  out  of  the  question  and  organized 


232 


iSJ  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


substances  include  marks  of  contrivance.  But  whatevei 
includes  marks  of  contrivance,  whatever,  in  its  constitution, 
testilies  design,  necessarily  carries  us  to  something  beyond 
itself,  to  some  other  being,  to  a designer  prior  to,  and  out 
of  itself  No  animal,  for  instance,  can  have  contrived  its 
own  limbs  and  senses;  can  have  been  the  author  to  itself 
of  the  design  with  which  they  were  constructed.  That 
supposition  involves  all  the  absurdity  of  self-creation,  {.  e, 
of  acting  without  existing.  Nothing  can  be  God,  which  is 
ordered  by  a wisdom  and  a will  which  itself  is  void  of, 
which  is  indebted  for  any  of  its  properties  to  contrivance 
ab  extra.  The  not  having  that  in  his  nature  which  requires 
the  exertion  of  another  prior  being  (which  property  is 
sometimes  called  self-sufficiency,  and  sometimes  self-com- 
prehension,) appertains  to  the  Deity,  as  his  essential  dis- 
tinction, and  removes  his  nature  from  that  of  all  things 
which  we  see.  Which  consideration  contains  the  answer 
to  a question  that  has  sometimes  been  asked,  namely:  Why, 
since  something  or  other  must  have  existed  from  eternity, 
may  not  the  present  universe  be  that  something.^  The 
contrivance  perceived  in  it  proves  that  to  be  impossible. 
Nothing  contrived  can,  in  a strict  and  proper  sense,  be 
eternal,  forasmuch  as  the  contriver  must  have  existed  before 
the  contrivance. 

Wherever  we  see  marks  of  contrivance,  we  are  led  for 
its  cause  to  an  intelligent  author.  And  this  transition  of 
the  understanding  is  founded  upon  uniform  experience. 
We  see  intelligence  constantly  contriving;  that  is,  we  see 
intelligence  constantly  producing- effects,  marked  and  dis- 
tinguished by  certain  properties;  not  certain  particular 
properties,  but  by  a kind  and  class  of  properties,  such  as 
relation  to  an  end,  relation  of  parts  to  one  another,  and  to 
a common  purpose.  We  see,  wherever  we  are  witnesses 
to  the  actual  formation  of  things,  nothing  except  intelli- 
gence producing  effects  so  marked  and  distinguished.  Fur- 
nished with  this  experience,  we  view  the  producticns  of 
nature.  We  observe  them  also  marked  and  distinguished 
in  the  same  manner.  We  wish  to  account  for  their  origin. 
Our  experience  suggests  a cause  perfectly  adequate  to  this 
account.  No  experience,  no  single  instance  or  example, 
can  be  offered  in  favor  of  any  other.  In  this  cause,  there- 
fore, we  ought  to  rest;  in  this  cause  the  common  sense  of 
mankind  has,  in  fact,  rested,  because  it  agrees  with  that 
which  in  all  cases  is  the  foundation  of  knowledge, — the 
undeviating  course  of  their  experience.  The  reasoning  is 
the  same  as  that  by  which  we  conclude  any  ancient  ap- 


OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY.  233 

-r> 

r earances  to  have  been  the  effects  of  volcanoes  or  inunda- 
tions, namely,  because  they  resemble  tlie  effects  which  lire 
and  water  produce  before  our  eyes;  and  because  we  have 
never  known  these  effects  to  result  from  any  other  opera- 
tion. And  this  resemblance  may  subsist  in  so  many  cir- 
cumstances, as  not  to  leave  us  under  the  smallest  doubt 
in  forming  our  opinion.  Men  are  not  deceived  by  this 
reasoning:  for  whenever  it  happens,  as  it  sometimes  does 
happen,  that  the  truth  comes  to  be  known  by  direct  infor- 
mation, it  turns  out  to  be  what  was  expected.  In  like 
manner,  and  upon  the  same  foundation  (which  in  truth  is 
that  of  experience)  we  conclude  that  the  works  of  nature 
proceeded  from  intelligence  and  design,  because,  in  the 
properties  of  relation  to  a purpose,  subserviency  to  a use, 
they  resemble  what  intelligence  and  design  are  constantly 
producing,  and  what  nothing  except  intelligence  and  de- 
sign ever  produce  at  all.  Of  every  argument,  which 
would  raise  a question  as  to  the  safety  of  this  reasoning, 
it  may  be  observed,  that  if  such  argument  be  listened  to, 
it  leads  to  the  inference,  not  only  that  the  present  order 
of  nature  is  insufficient  to  prove  the  existence  of  an  intelli- 
gent Creator,  but  that  no  imaginable  order  would  be  suf- 
ficient to  prove  it;  that  no  contrivance,  were  it  ever  so  me- 
chanical, ever  so  precise,  ever  so  clear,  ever  so  perfectly 
like  those  which  we  ourselves  employ,  would  support  this 
conclusion.  A doctrine  to  which,  I conceive,  no  sound 
mind  can  assent. 

The  force,  however,  of  the  reasoning  is  sometimes  sunk 
by  our  taking  up  with  mere  names.  We  have  already  no- 
ticed,^ and  we  must  here  notice  again,  the  misapplication 
of  the  term  “ law,’’  and  the  mistake  concerning  the  idea 
which  that  term  expresses  in  physics,  whenever  such  idea 
IS  made  to  take  the  place  of  power,  and  still  more  of  an  in- 
tedigent  power,  and,  as  such,  to  be  assigned  for  the  cause 
of  anything,  or  of  any  property  of  anything,  that  exists. 
This  is  what  we  are  secretly  apt  to  do,  when  we  speak  of  or- 
ganized bodies  (plants  for  instance,  or  animals,)  owing  their 
production,  their  form,  their  growth,  their  qualities,  their 
beauty,  their  use,  to  any  law  or  laws  of  nature;  and  when 
we  are  contented  to  sit  down  with  that  answer  to  our  inqui- 
ries concerning  them.  I say  once  more,  that  it  is  a per- 
version of  language  to  assign  any  law  as  the  efficient  oper- 
ative cause  of  anything.  A law  presupposes  an  agent,  for 
it  is  only  th^  mode  according  to  which  an  agent  proceeds; 


Chap.  I.  sec.  vii. 


234  OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 

r 

it  implies  a power,  for  it  is  the  order  according  to  which 
that  power  acts.  Without  this  agent,  without  this  po»ver, 
which  are  both  distinct  from  itself,  the  ‘Maw’’  does  noth- 
ing— is  nothing. 

What  has  been  said  concerning  “law,”  holds  true  of 
mechanism.  Mechanism  is  not  itself  power.  Mechanism, 
without  power,  can  do  nothing.  Let  a watch  be  contrived 
and  constructed  ever  so  ingeniously;  be  its  parts  ever  so 
many,  ever  so  complicated,  ever  so  finely  wrought,  or  arti- 
ficially put  together,  it  cannot  go  without  a weight  or  spring, 
%.  e.  without  a force  independent  of,  and  ulterior  to,  its  me- 
chanism. The  spring  acting  at  the  centre,  will  produce 
different  motions  and  different  results,  according  to  the 
variety  of  the  intermediate  mechanism.  One  and  the  self- 
same spring,  acting  in  one  and  the  same  manner,  viz.  by 
simply  expanding  itself,  may  be  the  cause  of  a hundred  dif- 
ferent, and  all  useful,  movements,  if  a hundred  different  and 
well-devised  sets  of  wheels  be  placed  between  it  and  the 
final  eflect;  e.  g,  may  point  out  the  hour  of  the  day,  the 
day  of  the  month,  the  age  of  the  moon,  the  position  of  the 
planets,  the  cycle  of  the  years,  and  many  other  serviceable 
notices:  and  these  movements  may  fulfil  their  purposes 
with  more  or  less  perfection,  according  as  the  mechanism 
is  better  or  worse  contrived,  or  better  or  worse  executed, 
or  in  a better  or  worse  state  of  repair  ; but  in  all  cases,  it 
is  necessary  that  the  spring  act  at  the  centre.  The  course 
of  our  reasoning  upon  such  a subject  would  be  this:  by 
inspecting  the  watch,  even  when  standing  still,  we  get  a 
proof  of  contrivance,  and  of  a contriving  mind  having  been 
employed  about  it.  In  the  form  and  obvious  relation  of  its 
parts,  we  see  enough  to  convince  us  of  this.  If  we  pull 
the  works  in  pieces,  for  the  purpose  of  a closer  examination, 
we  are  still  more  fully  convinced.  But  when  we  see  the 
watch  going,  we  see  proof  of  another  point,  viz.  that  there 
is  a power  somewhere  and  somehow  or  other,  applied  to 
it;  a power  in  action; — that  there  is  more  in  the  subject 
han  the  mere  wheels  of  the  machine; — that  there  is  a 
secret  spring,  or  a gravitating  plummet; — in  a word,  that 
there  is  force  and  energy,  as  well  as  mechanism. 

So  then,  the  watch  in  motion  establishes  to  the  observer 
two  conclusions:  One;  that  thought,  contrivance,  and  de- 
sign, have  been  employed  in  the  forming,  proportioning, 
and  arranging  of  its  parts;  and  that  whoever  or  wherever 
he  be,  or  were,  such  a contriver  there  is,  or  was:  The  other; 
that  force  or  power,  distinct  from  mechanism,  is  at  this 
uveseiit  tiin^  acting  upon  it.  If  I saw  a hand-mill,  even  at 


OF  THE  PERSONAI.1TY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


235 


rest,  I should  see  contrivance;  but  if  I saw  it  grinding,  I 
should  be  assured  that  a hand  was  at  the  windlass,  though 
in  another  room.  It  is  the  same  in  nature.  In  the  works 
of  nature  we  trace  mechanism;  and  this  alone  proves 
contrivance:  but  living,  active,  moving,  productive  nature, 
proves  also  the  exertion  of  a power  at  the  centre;  for, 
wherever  the  power  resides  may  be  denominated  the  centre. 

The  intervention  and  disposition  of  what  are  called 

second  causes fall  under  the  same  observation.  Tliis 
disposition  is  or  is  not  mechanism,  according  as  we  can  or 
cannot  trace  it  by  our  senses  and  means  of  examination 

That  is  all  the  difference  there  is ; and  it  is  a difference 
which  respects  our  faculties,  not  the  things  themselves. 
Now,  where  the  order  of  second  causes  is  mechanical,  what 
is  here  said  of  mechanism  strictly  applies  to  it.  But  it 
would  be  always  mechanism  (natural  chemistry,  for  in- 
stance, would  be  mechanism)  if  our  senses  were  acute 
enough  to  descry  it.  Neither  mechanism,  therefore,  in 
the  works  of  nature,  nor  the  intervention  of  what  are  call- 
ed second  causes,  (for  I think  that  they  are  the  same 
thing,)  excuses  the  necessity  of  an  agent  distinct  from  both. 

If,  in  tracing  these  causes,  it  be  said,  that  we  find  cer- 
tain general  properties  of  matter  which  have  nothing  in 
them  that  bespeaks  intelligence,  I answer,  that  still  the 
managing  of  these  properties,  the  pointing  and  directing 
them  to  the  uses  which  we  see  made  of  them,  demands  in- 
telligence in  the  highest  degree.  For  example:  suppose 
animal  secretions  to  be  elective  attraction,  and  that  such 
and  such  attractions  universally  belong  to  such  and  such 
substances;  in  all  which  there  is  no  intellect  concerned; 
still  the  choice  and  collocation  of  these  substances,  the  fix- 
ing upon  right  substances,  and  disposing  them  in  righ\ 
places,  must  be  an  act  of  intelligence.  What  mischief 
would  follow,  were  there  a single  transposition  of  the  se- 
cretory organs;  a single  mistake  in  arranging  the  glands 
which  compose  them! 

There  may  be  many  second  causes,  and  many  courses 
of  second  causes,  one  behind  another,  between  what  we 
observe  of  nature  and  the  Deity;  but  there  must  be  in- 
telligence somewhere;  there  must  be  more  in  nature  than 
what  we  see;  and,  amongst  the  things  unseen,  there  must 
be  an  intelligent,  designing  author.  The  philosopher  be- 
holds with  astonishment  the  production  of  things  around 
him.  Unconscious  particles  of  matter  take  their  stations, 
and  several  ly  range  themselves  in  an  order,  so  as  to  become 
collectively  plants  or  animals,  i e.  organized  bodies,  with 


236 


OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


parts  bearing  strict  and  evident  relation  to  one  another, 
and  to  the  utility  of  the  whole:  and  it  should  seem  that 
these  particles  could  not  move  in  any  other  way  than  as 
they  do;  for  they  testify  not  the  smallest  sign  of  choice,  or 
liberty,  cr  discretion.  There  may  be  particular  intelligent 
beings  g aiding  these  motions  in  each  case;  or  they  may 
be  the  result  of  trains  of  mechanical  dispositions,  fixed 
beforehand  by  an  intelligent  appointment,  and  kept  in  ac- 
tion by  a power  at  the  centre.  But,  in  either  case,  there 
must  be  intelligence. 

The  minds  of  most  men  are  fond  of  what  they  call  a 
principle,  and  of  the  appearance  of  simplicity,  in  account- 
ing for  phenomena.  Yet  this  principle,  this  simplicity, 
resides  merely  in  the  name;  which  name,  after  all,  com- 
prises, perhaps,  under  it  a diversified,  multifarious,  or  pro- 
gressive operation,  distinguishable  into  parts.  The  power 
in  organized  bodies,  of  producing  bodies  like  themselves, 
is  one  of  these  principles.  Give  a philosopher  this,  and 
he  can  get  on.  But  he  does  not  reflect,  what  this  mode  of 
production,  this  principle  (if  such  he  choose  to  call  it)  re- 
quires; how  much  it  presupposes;  what  an  apparatus  of  in- 
struments, some  of  which  are  strictly  mechanical,  is  neces- 
sary to  its  success;  what  a train  it  includes  of  operations  and 
changes,  one  succeeding  another,  one  related  to  another, 
one  ministering  to  another ; all  advancing,  by  intermediate, 
and  frequently,  by  sensible  steps,  to  their  ultimate  result* 
Yet,  because  the  whole  of  this  complicated  action  is  wrap- 
ped up  in  a single  term,  generation^  we  are  to  set  it  down 
as  an  elementary  principle;  and  to  suppose,  that  when  we 
have  resolved  the  things  which  we  see  into  this  principle, 
we  have  sufficiently  accounted  for  their  origin,  without  the 
necessity  of  a designing,  intelligent  Creator.  The  truth  is, 
generation  is  not  a principle,  but  a process.  We  might 
as  well  call  the  casting  of  metals  a principle;  we  might,  so 
far  as  appears  to  me,  as  well  call  spinning  and  weaving 
principles:  and  then,  referring  the  texture  of  cloths,  the 
fabric  of  muslins  and  calicoes,  the  patterns  of  diapers  and 
damasks,  to  these,  as  principles,  pretend  to  dispense  with 
intention,  thought,  and  contrivance,  on  the  part  of  the  ar- 
tist; or  to  dispense,  indeed,  with  the  necessity  of  any  artist 
at  all,  either  in  the  manufacturing  of  the  article,  or  in  the 
fabrication  of  the  machinery  by  which  the  manufacture 
was  carried  on. 

And  after  all,  how,  or  in  what  sense,  is  it  true,  that  ani- 
mals produce  their  like?  A butterfly,  with  a broboscis  in- 
itead  of  a mouth,  with  four  wings  and  six  legs,  produces  a 


OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY 


237 


hairy  caterpillar,  with  jaws  and  teeth,  and  fourteen  feet 
4 frog  produces  a tadpole.  A black  beetle,  with  gauze 
wings,  and  a crusty  covering,  produces  a white,  smooth, 
soft  worm;  an  ephemeron  fly,  a cod-bait  maggot.  These, 
by  a progress  through  different  stages  of  life,  and  action, 
and  enjoyment,  (and  in  each  state  provided  with  imple- 
merts  and  organs  appropriated  to  the  temporary  nature 
which  they  bear,)  arrive  at  last  at  the  form  and  fashion  of 
the  parent  animal.  But  all  this  is  process,  not  principle; 
and  proves,  moreover,  that  the  property  of  animated  bodies, 
of  producing  their  like,  belongs  to  them,  not  as  a primordial 
property,  not  by  any  blind  necessity  in  the  nature  of  things, 
but  as  the  effect  of  economy,  wisdom,  and  design;  because 
the  property  itself  assumes  diversities,  and  submits  to  devi- 
ations dictated  by  intelligible  utilities,  and  serving  distinct 
purposes  of  animal  happiness. 

The  opinion,  which  would  consider  generation”  as  a 
principle  in  nature;  and  which  would  assign  this  principle 
as  a cause,  or  endeavour  to  satisfy  our  minds  with  such  a 
cause,  of  the  existence  of  organized  bodies,  is  confuted,  in 
my  judgment,  not  only  by  every  mark  of  contrivance  dis- 
coverable in  those  bodies,  for  which  it  gives  us  no  contriver, 
offers  no  account  whatever;  but  also  by  the  farther  consid- 
eration, that  things  generated  possess  a clear  relation  to 
things  not  generated.  If  it  were  merely  one  part  of  a gen- 
erated body  bearing  a relation  to  another  part  of  the  same 
body,  as  the  mouth  of  an  animal  to  the  throat,  the  throat 
to  the  stomach,  the  stomach  to  the  intestines,  those  to  the 
recruiting  of  the  blood,  and  by  means  of  the  blood,  to  the 
nourishment  of  the  whole  frame;  or  if  it  were  only  one 
generated  body  bearing  a relation  to  another  generated 
body,  as  the  sexes  of  the  same  species  to  each  other, 
animals  3f  prey  to  their  prey,  herbivorous  and  granivo- 
rous  animals  to  the  plants  or  seeds  upon  which  they  feed, 
it  might  be  contended,  that  the  whole  of  this  correspon- 
dency was  attributable  to  generation,  the  common  origin 
from  which  these  substances  proceeded.  But  what  shall 
we  say  to  agreements  which  exist  between  things  generat- 
ed and  things  not  generated'^  Can  it  be  doubted,  was  it 
ever  doubted,  but  that  the  lungs  of  animals  bear  a relation 
to  tlie  air,  as  a permanently  elastic  fluid?  They  act  in  it 
and  by  it,  they  cannot  act  without  it.  Now,  if  generation 
produced  the  animal,  it  did  not  produce  the  air;  yet  their 
properties  correspond.  The  eye  is  made  for  light,  and  light 
for  the  eye.  The  eye  would  be  of  no  use  without  light, 
and  light  perhaps  of  little  without  eyes;  yet  one  is  produc- 


23B 


OP  THE  PERSONAL  TY  OP  THE  DEITY. 


cd  by  generation;  the  other  not.  The  ear  depends  upon 
undulations  of  lir.  Here  are  two  sets  of  motions:  first,  of 
.he  pulses  of  the  air;  secondly,  of  the  drum,  bones,  and 
nerves  of  the  ear:  sets  of  motions  bearing  an  evident  re- 
ference to  each  other:  yet  the  one,  and  the  apparatus  for 
the  one,  produced  by  the  intervention  of  generation;  the 
, other  altogether  independent  of  it. 

If  it  be  said,  that  the  air,  the  light,  the  elements,  the 
world  itself,  is  generated;  I answer,  that  I do  not  compre- 
hend he  proposition.  If  the  term  mean  anything  similar 
io  wnat  it  means  when  applied  to  plants  or  animals,  the 
proposition  is  certainly  without  proof;  and,  I think,  draws 
as  near  to  absurdity  as  any  proposition  can  do,  which  does 
not  include  a contradiction  in  its  terms.  I am  at  a loss  to 
conceive,  how  the  formation  of  the  world  can  be  compared 
to  the  generation  of  an  animal.  If  the  term  generatiori 
signify  something  quite  different  from  what  it  signifies  on 
ordinary  occasions,  it  may,  by  the  same  latitude,  signify 
anything.  In  which  case,  a word  or  phrase  taken  from  the 
language  of  Otaheite,  would  convey  as  much  theory  con- 
cerning the  origin  of  the  universe,  as  it  does  to  talk  of  its 
being  generated. 

We  know  a cause  (intelligence)  adequate  to  the  appear- 
ances which  we  wish  to  account  for;  we  have  this  cause 
continually  producing  similar  appearances;  yet,  rejecting 
this  cause,  the  sufficiency  of  which  we  know,  and  the  ac- 
tion of  which  is  constantly  before  our  eyes,  we  are  invited 
to  resort  to  suppositions  destitute  of  a single  fact  for  their 
support,  and  confirmed  by  no  analogy  with  wdiich  we  are 
acquainted.  Were  it  necessary  to  inquire  into  the  motives 
of  men’s  opinions,  I mean  their  motives  separate  from  their 
arguments,  I should  almost  suspect,  that,  because  the  proof 
of  a Deity  drawn  from  the  constitution  of  nature  is  not  only 
popular  but  vulgar,  (which  may  arise  from  the  cogency  of 
the  proof,  and  be  indeed  its  highest  recommendation,) 
and  because  it  is  a species  almost  of  puerility  to  take  up 
with  it;  for  these  reasons,  minds,  which  are  habitually  in 
search  of  invention  and  originality,  feel  a resistless  inclina- 
tion to  strike  off  into  other  solutions  and  other  expositions. 
The  truth  is,  that  many  minds  are  not  so  indisposed  to  any- 
thing which  can  be  offered  to  them,  as  they  are  to  the 
flatness  of  being  content  with  common  reasons;  and,  what 
is  most  to  be  lamented,  minds  conscious  of  superiority  are 
the  most  liable  to  this  repugnancy. 

The  ‘‘  suppositions”  here  alluded  to,  all  agree  in  one 
characte;:  they  all  endeavour  to  dispense  with  the  necessi- 


OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


239 


ty  in  nature,  of  a particular  personal  intelligence;  that 
is  to  say,  with  the  exertion  of  an  intending,  contriving 
mind,  m the  structure  and  formation  of  the  organized  con- 
stitution which  the  world  contains.  They  would  resolve 
ail  productions  into  unconscious  energies,  of  a like  kind,  in 
that  respect,  with  attraction,  magnetism,  electricity,  &c. 
without  anything  farther. 

Ill  this  the  old  system  of  atheism  and  the  new  agree 
And  I much  doubt,  whether  the  new  schemes  have  advanc- 
ed anything  upon  the  old,  or  done  more  than  changed  the 
terms  of  the  nomenclature.  For  instance,  I could  never 
see  the  difference  between  the  antiquated  system  of  atoms, 
and  Buffon's  organic  molecules.  This  philosopher,  having 
made  a planet  by  knocking  off  from  the  sun  apiece  of  melt- 
ed glass,  in  consequence  of  the  stroke  of  a comet;  and  hav- 
ing set  it  in  motion  by  the  same  stroke,  both  round  its  own 
axis  and  the  sun,  finds  his  next  difficulty  to  be,  how  to 
bring  plants  and  animals  upon  it.  In  order  to  solve  this 
difficulty,  we  are  to  suppose  the  universe  replenished  with 
particles  endowed  with  life,  but  without  organization  or 
senses  of  their  own;  and  endowed  also  with  a tendency  to 
marshal  themselves  into  organized  forms.  The  concourse 
of  these  particles,  by  virtue  of  this  tendency,  but  without 
intelligence,  will,  or  direction,  (for  I do  not  find  that  any 
of  these  qualities  are  ascribed  to  them,)  has  produced  the 
living  forms  which  we  now  see. 

Very  few  of  the  conjectures  which  philosophers  hazard 
upon  these  subjects,  have  more  of  pretension  in  therr  than 
the  challenging  you  to  show  the  direct  impossibility  of  the 
hypothesis.  In  the  present  example,  there  seemed  to  be 
a positive  objection  to  the  whole  scheme  upon  the  very 
face  of  it;  which  was  that,  if  the  case  were  as  here  repre- 
sented, new  combinations  ought  to  be  perpetually  taking 
place;  new  plants  and  animals,  or  organized  bodies  which 
vvere  neither,  ought  to  be  starting  up  before  our  eyes  every 
day.  For  this,  however,  our  philosopher  has  an  answer 
Whilst  so  many  forms  of  plants  and  animals  are  already  in 
existence,  and,  consequently,  so  many  “internal  moulds,'' 
as  he  calls  them,  are  prepared  and  at  hand,  the  organic 
particles  run  into  these  moulds,  and  are  employed  in  supply- 
ing an  accession  of  substance  to  them,  as  well  for  their 
growth,  as  for  their  propagation.  By  which  means  things 
keep  their  ancient  course.  But,  says  the  same  philoso- 
pher, should  any  general  loss  or  destruction  of  the  pre- 
sent constitution  of  organized  bodies  take  place,  the  parti- 
cles, for  want  of  “moulds"  into  which  they  might  enter^. 


440 


OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


would  run  into  different  combinations,  and  replenish  the 
waste  with  new  species  of  organized  substances. 

Is  there  any  history  to  countenance  this  notion.^  Is  it 
known,  that  any  destruction  has  been  so  repaired?  any 
desert  thus  repeopled? 

So  far  as  I remember,  the  only  natural  appearance  men- 
tioned by  our  author,  by  way  of  fact  whereon  to  build  his 
hypothesis,  the  only  support  on  which  it  rests,  is  the  forma- 
tion of  worms  in  the  intestines  of  animals,  which  is  here 
ascribed  to  the  coalition  of  superabundant  organic  parti- 
cles, floating  about  in  the  first  passages;  and  which  have 
combined  themselves  into  these  simple  animal  forms,  for 
want  of  internal  moulds,  or  of  vacancies  in  those  moulds, 
into  which  they  might  be  received.  The  thing  referred  to, 
is  rather  a species  of  facts,  than  a single  fact;  as  some 
other  cases  may,  with  equal  reason,  be  included  under  it. 
But  to  make  it  a fact  at  all,  or  in  any  sort  applicable  to 
the  question,  we  must  begin  with  asserting  an  equivocal 
generation,  contrary  to  analogy,  and  without  necessity: 
contrary  to  an  analogy,  which  accompanies  us  to  the  very 
limits  of  our  knowledge  or  inquiries;  for  wherever,  either 
in  plants  or  animals,  we  are  able  to  examine  the  subject, 
we  find  procreation  from  a parent  form:  without  necessity; 
for  I apprehend  that  it  is  seldom  difficult  to  suggest  me- 
thods, by  which  the  eggs,  or  spawn,  or  yet  invisible  rudi- 
ments of  these  vermin,  may  have  obtained  a passage  into 
the  cavities  in  which  they  are  found.*  Add  to  this,  that 
their  constancy  to  their  species,  which,  I believe,  is  as  regu- 
lar in  these  as  in  the  other  vermes,  decides  the  question 
against  our  philosopher,  if  in  truth  any  question  remained 
apon  the  subject. 

Lastly;  these  wonder-working  instruments,  these  ‘Tn- 
ernal  moulds,”  what  are  they  after  all?  what,  when  exam- 
ined, but  a name  without  signification;  unintelligible,  if  not 
jelf-contradictory ; at  the  best,  differing  in  nothing  from  the 

essential  forms”  of  the  Greek  philosophy?  One  short 
sentence  of  Buffon’s  work  exhibits  his  scheme  as  follows: 
“ Wh^n  this  nutritious  and  prolific  matter,  which  is  diffus- 
ed throughout  all  nature,  passes  through  the  internal  mould 
of  an  animal  or  vegetable,  and  finds  a proper  matrix,  or  re- 
ceptacle, it  gives  rise  to  an  animal  or  vegetable  of  the  same 
species.”  l3oes  any  reader  annex  a meaning  to  the  expres- 

* I trust  I may  be  excused  for  not  citing,  as  another  fact  which  is  to 
confirm  the  hypothesis,  a grave  assertion  of  this  writer,  that  the  brandi- 
es of  trees  upon  which  the  stag  feeds,  break  out  again. in  his  horni 
t3uch  facts  merit  no  discussion. 


OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


241 


Bion,  ‘‘internal  mould,”  in  this  sentence?  Ought  it  then 
to  be  said  that  though  we  have  little  notion  of  an  internal 
mould,  we  have  not  much  more  of  a designing  mind?  The 
very  contrary  of  this  assertion  is  the  truth.  When  we 
speak  of  an  artificer  or  an  architect,  we  talk  of  what  is  com- 
prehensible to  our  understanding,  and  familiar  to  our  expe- 
rience. We  use  no  other  terms,  than  what  refer  us  for  their 
meaning  to  our  consciousness  and  observation;  what  express 
tlic  constant  objects  of  both;  whereas  names,  like  that  we 
have  mentioned;  refer  us  to  nothing;  excite  no  idea:  convey 
a sound  to  the  ear,  but  I think  do  no  more. 

Another  system,  which  has  lately  been  brvmght  forward, 
and  with  much  ingenuity,  is  that  of  appetencies.  The  prin- 
ciple, and  the  short  account  of  the  theory,  is  this:  Pieces 
of  soft,  ductile  matter,  being  endued  with  propensities  or 
appetencies  for  particular  actions,  would,  by  continual  en- 
deavours, carried  on  through  a long  series  of  generations, 
work  themselves  gradually  into  suitable  forms;  and  at 
length  acquire,  though  perhaps  by  obscure  and  almost  im- 
perceptible improvements,  an  organization  fitted  to  the  ac- 
tion which  their  respective  propensities  led  them  to  exert. 
A piece  of  animated  matter,  for  example,  that  was  endued 
with  a propensity  to  fly,  though  ever  so  shapeless,  though 
no  other  we  will  suppose  than  a round  ball,  to  begin  with, 
would,  in  a course  of  ages,  if  not  in  a million  of  years, 
perhaps  in  a hundred  millions  of  years,  (for  our  theorists, 
having  eternity  to  dispose  of,  are  never  sparing  in  time,)  ac- 
quire The  same  tendency  to  locomotion  in  an 

aquatic  animal,  or  rather  in  an  animated  lump  which  might 
happen  to  be  surrounded  by  water,  would  end  in  the  pro- 
duction fins;  in  a living  substance,  confined  to  the  solid 
earth,  would  put  out  legs  and  feet;  or,  if  it  took  a different 
turn,  would  break  the  body  into  ringlets,  and  conclude  by 
craivling  upon  the  ground. 

Although  I have  introduced  the  mention  of  this  theory 
into  this  place,  I am  unwilling  to  give  to  it  the  name  of  an 
atheistic  scheme,  for  two  reasons:  first,  because,  so  far  as 
I am  able  to  understand  it,  the  original  propensities,  and 
the  numberless  varieties  of  them  (so  different,  in  this  re- 
spect, from  the  laws  of  mechanical  nature,  wd  ich  are  few 
and  simple,)  are,  in  the  plan  itself,  attributed  to  the  ordina- 
tion and  appointment  of  an  intelligent  and  designing  Crea- 
tor; secondly,  because,  likewise,  that  large  postulatum, 
which  is  a 1 along  assumed  and  presupposed,  the  faculty 
in  living  bodies  of  producing  other  bodies  organized  like 
themselves,  seems  to  be  referred  to  the  same  cause;  at 

W 


242 


OF  THE  PEKbONAL  JTY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


least  IS  not  attempted  to  be  accounted  for  by  any  other.  In 
one  important  respect,  however,  the  theory  before  us  coin- 
cides with  atheistic  systems,  viz.  in  that,  in  the  formation 
of  plants  and  animals,  in  the  structure  and  use  of  their  parts, 
it  does  away  final  causes.  Instead  of  the  parts  of  a plant 
or  animal,  or  the  particular  structure  of  the  parts,  having 
il>een  intended  for  the  action  or  the  use  to  which  we  see 
them  applied,  according  to  this  theory,  they  have  themselves 
grown  out  of  that  action,  sprung  from  that  use.  The  the- 
ory therefore  dispenses  with  that  which  we  insist  upon,  the 
necessity,  in  each  particular  case,  of  an  intelligent,  design- 
ing mind,  for  the  contriving  and  determining  of  the  forms 
which  organized  bodies  bear.  Give  our  philosopher  these 
appetencies;  give  him  a portion  of  living  irritable  matter 
(a  nerve,  or  the  clipping  of  a nerve)  to  work  upon;  give 
also  to  his  incipient  or  progressive  forms,  the  power,  in 
every  stage  of  their  alteration,  of  propagating  their  like; 
and,  if  he  is  to  be  believed,  he  could  replenish  the  world 
with  all  the  vegetable  and  animal  productions  which  we  at 
present  see  in  it. 

The  scheme  under  consideration  is  open  to  the  same  ob- 
jection with  other  conjectures  of  a similar  tendency,  viz.  a 
total  defect  of  evidence.  No  changes,  like  those  which  the 
theory  requires,  have  ever  been  observed.  All  the  changes 
in  Ovid’s  Metamorphoses  might  have  been  effected  by  these 
appetencies,  if  the  theory  were  true:  yet  not  an  example, 
nor  the  pretence  of  an  example,  is  offered  of  a single 
change  being  known  to  have  taken  place.  Nor  is  the  or- 
der of  generation  obedient  to  the  principle  upon  which  this 
theory  is  built.  The  marnmse  * of  the  male  have  not  van- 
ished by  inusitation;  nec  ciirtorum,  per  multa  scccula  Ju^ 
decorum  propagini  deest  prczputium.  It  is  easy  to  say,  and 
it  has  been  said,  that  the  alterative  process  is  too  slow  to 
be  perceived;  that  it  has  been  carried  on  through  tracts  of 
immeasurable  time;  and  that  the  present  order  of  things  is 
the  result  of  a gradation,  of  which  no  human  records  can 
trace  the  steps.  It  is  easy  to  say  this;  and  yet  it  is  still 
true,  that  the  hypothesis  remains  destitute  of  evidence. 

The  analogies  which  have  been  alleged,  are  of  the  fol- 
lowing kind.  The  hunch  of  a camel  is  said  to  be  no  other 
than  the  effect  of  carrying  burdens;  a service  in  which 

* I confess  myself  totally  at  a loss  to  guess  at  the  reason,  either  final 
or  efficient,  for  this  part  of  the  animal  frame,  unless  there  be  some  foun- 
dation for  an  opinion,  of  which  I draw  tlie  hint  from  a paper  of  Sir  Kve- 
rard  Home’s,  (Phil.  Transac.  1799,  p.  2,)  viz.  that  the  niammie  of  the 
*bRtns  may  bo  f'rmed  before  the  sex  is  determined. 


OP  THE  PERSONALITY  OP  THE  DEITY. 

ihe  species  has  been  employed  from  the  most  ar  cient  times 
of  the  world  The  first  race,  by  the  daily  loading  of  the 
back,  would  probably  find  a small  grumous  tumour  to  be 
formed  in  the  flesh  of  that  part.  The  next  progeny  would 
bring  this  tumour  into  the  world  with  them.  The  life  to 
which  they  were  destined  would  increase  it.  The  cause 
which  first  generated  the  tubercle  being  continued,  it  would 
go  on,  through  every  succession,  to  augment  its  size,  till  it 
attained  the  form  and  the  bulk  under  which  it  now  appears. 
This  may  serve  for  one  instance:  another,  and  that  also  of 
the  passive  sort,  is  taken  from  certain  species  of  birds. 
Birds  of  the  crane  kind,  as  the  crane  itself,  the  heion,  bit- 
tern, stoik,  have,  in  general,  their  thighs  bare  of  feathers. 
This  privation  is  accounted  for  from  the  habit  of  wading  in 
water,  a;\d  from  the  effect  of  that  element  to  check  the 
growth  (if  feathers  upon  these  parts;  in  consequence  of 
which,  Ihe  health  and  vegetation  of  the  feathers  declined 
through  each  generation  of  the  animal;  the  tender  down, 
exposed  to  cold  and  wetness,  became  weak,  and  thin,  and 
rare,  till  the  deterioration  ended  in  the  result  which  we  see, 
of  absolute  nakedness.  I will  mention  a third  instance, 
because  it  is  drawn  from  an  active  hab.t,  as  the  two  last 
were  from  passive  habits;  and  that  is  the  pouch  of  the  pe- 
lican. The  description,  which  naturalists  give  of  this  organ, 
is  as  follows:  ‘‘From  the  lower  edges  of  the  under  chap 
hangs  a bag,  reaching  from  the  whole  length  of  the  bill  to 
the  neck,  which  is  said  to  be  capable  of  containing  fifteen 
quarts  of  water.  This  bag  the  bird  has  a power  of  wrink- 
ling up  into  the  hollow  of  the  under  chap.  When  the  bag 
is  empty,  it  is  not  seen;  but  when  the  bird  has  fished  with 
success,  it  is  incredible  to  what  an  extent  it  is  often  dilated. 
The  first  thing  the  pelican  does  in  fishing,  is  to  fill  the  bag; 
and  then  it  returns  to  digest  its  burden  at  leisure.  The 
bird  preys  upon  large  fishes,  and  hides  them  by  dozens  in 
its  pouch.  When  the  bill  is  opened  to  its  widest  extent,  a 
person  may  run  his  head  into  the  bird’s  mouth,  and  conceal 
it  in  this  monstrous  pouch,  thus  adapted  for  very  singular 
purposes.”*  Now  this  extraordinary  conformation  is  noth 
ing  more,  say  our  philosophers,  than  the  result  of  habit; 
not  of  the  habit  or  effort  of  a single  pelican,  or  of  a single 
race  of  pelicans,  but  of  a habit  perpetuated  through  a long 
series  of  generations.  The  pelican  soon  found  the  con- 
veniency  of  reserving  in  its  mouth,  when  its  appetite  was 
glutted,  the  remainder  of  its  prey,  which  is  fish.  The  fill- 


* Goldsmith,  vol.  vi.  p.  52 


244 


OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


ness  produced  by  this  attempt,  of  course  stretched  fhe 
skin  which  lies  between  the  under  chaps,  as  being  the 
most  yielding  part  of  the  mouth.  Every  distension  in- 
creased the  cavity.  The  original  bird,  and  many  genera- 
tions which  succeeded  him,  might  find  dithculty  enough  in 
making  the  pouch  answer  this  purpose:  but  future  pelicans, 
entering  upon  life  with  a pouch  derived  from  their  progen- 
itors, of  considerable  capacity,  would  more  readily  accel- 
erate its  advance  to  perfection,  by  frequently  pressing 
down  the  sack  with  the  weight  of  fish  which  it  might  now 
be  made  to  contain. 

These,  or  of  this  kind,  are  the  analogies  relied  upon. 
Now,  in  the  first  place,  the  instances  themselves  are  unau- 
thenticated by  testimony;  and,  in  theory,  to  say  the  least 
of  them,  open  to  great  objections.  Who  ever  read  of  ca- 
mels without  bunches,  or  with  bunches  less  than  those  with 
which  they  are  at  present  usually  formed.^  A bunch,  not 
unlike  the  camefs,  is  found  between  the  shoulders  of  the 
buffalo;  of  the  origin  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  give  the 
account  which  is  here  given.  In  the  second  example ; WTy 
should  the  application  of  water,  which  appears  to  promote 
and  thicken  the  growth  of  feathers  upon  the  bodies  and 
breasts  of  geese  and  swans,  and  other  water-fowls,  have 
divested  of  this  covering  the  thighs  of  cranes?  The  third 
instance,  which  appears  to  me  as  plausible  as  any  that  can 
be  produced,  has  this  against  it,  that  it  is  a singularity  re- 
stricted to  the  species;  whereas,  if  it  had  its  commence- 
ment in  the  cause  and  manner  which  have  been  assigned, 
the  like  conformation  might  be  expected  to  take  place  in 
other  birds  which  feed  upon  fish.  How  comes  it  to  pass, 
that  the  pelican  alone  was  the  inventress,  and  her  descen- 
dants the  only  inheritors,  of  this  curious  resource? 

But  it  is  the  less  necessary  to  controvert  the  instances 
themselves,  as  it  is  a straining  of  analogy  beyond  all  lim- 
its of  reason  and  credibility,  to  assert  that  birds,  and  beasts, 
and  fish,  with  all  their  variety  and  complexity  of  organiza- 
tion, have  been  brought  into  their  forms,  and  distinguished 
into  their  several  kinds  and  natures,  by  the  same  process 
(even  if  that  process  could  be  demonstrated,  or  had  it  ever 
been  actually  noticed)  as  might  seem  to  serve  for  the  grad- 
ual generation  of  a camel’s  bunch,  or  a pelican’s  pouch. 

The  solution,  when  applied  to  the  works  of  nature  geii- 
eralljij  is  contradicted  by  many  of  the  phenomena,  and  to- 
tally inadequate  to  others.  The  lifj^amenls  or  strictures,  by 
which  the  tendons  are  tied  down  at  the  angles  of  the  joints, 
■joul : by  no  possibility,  be  formed  by  the  motion  or  exer 


OF  THE  PERSONALITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


245 


cise  of  the  tendons  themselves;  by  any  appetency  exciting 
these  parts  into  action;  or  by  any  tendency  arising  there- 
from. The  tendency  is  all  the  other  way;  the  conahis  m 
constant  opposition  to  them.  Length  of  time  does  not  help 
the  case  at  all,  but  the  reverse.  The  valves  also  in  the 
blood-vessels,  could  never  be  formed  in  the  manner  which 
our  theorist  proposes.  The  blood,  in  its  right  and  natural 
course,  has  no  tendency  to  form  them.  When  obstruct- 
ed or  refluent,  it  has  the  contrary.  These  parts  could 
not  grow  out  of  their  use,  though  they  had  eternity  to 
grow  in. 

The  senses  of  animals  appear  to  me  altogether  incapable 
of  receiving  the  explanation  of  their  origin  which  this  theo- 
ry affords.  Including  under  the  word  “ sense”  the  organ 
and  the  perception,  we  have  no  account  of  either.  How 
will  our  philosopher  get  at  vision,  or  make  an  eye?  How 
should  the  blind  animal  effect  sight,  of  which  blind  animals, 
we  know,  have  neither  conception  nor  desire?  Affecting 
it,  by  what  operation  of  its  will,  by  what  endeavour  to  see, 
could  it  so  determine  the  fluids  of  its  body,  as  to  inchoate 
the  formation  of  an  eye;  or  suppose  the  eye  formed,  would 
the  perception  follow?  The  same  of  the  other  senses 
And  this  objection  holds  its  force,  ascribe  what  you  will  to 
the  hand  of  time,  to  the  power  of  habit,  to  changes  too  slow’ 
to  be  observed  by  man,  or  brought  within  any  comparison 
which  he  is  able  to  make  of  past  things  with  the  present: 
concede  what  you  please  to  these  arbitrary  and  unattested 
suppositions,  how  will  they  help  you?  Here  is  no  incep- 
tion. No  laws,  no  course,  no  powers  of  nature  which  pre- 
vail at  present,  nor  any  analogous  to  these,  could  give  com- 
mencement to  a new  sense.  And  it  is  in  vain  to  inquire 
how  that  might  proceed,  which  could  never  begin, 

I think  the  senses  to  be  the  most  inconsistent  with  the 
hypothesis  before  us,  of  any  part  of  the  animal  frame.  But 
other  parts  are  sufficiently  so.  The  solution  does  not 
apply  to  the  parts  of  animals  which  have  little  in  them  of 
motion.  If  we  could  suppose  joints  and  muscles  to  be  grad 
ually  formed  by  action  and  exercise,  what  action  or  exercise 
could  form  a skull,  or  fill  it  with  brains?  No  effort  of  the 
animal  could  determine  the  clothing  of  its  skin.  What  co- 
natus  could  give  prickles  to  the  porcupine  or  hedgehog,  or 
to  the  sheep  its  fleece? 

In  the  last  place:  What  do  these  appetencies  mean  when 
applied  to  plants?  I am  not  able  to  give  a signification  tc 
the  term,  which  can  be  transferred  from  animals  to  plants, 
or  which  is  common  to  both  Yet  a no  less  successful  or- 

w* 


OF  THE  NATURAL  ATTRIBUTES. 

ganization  is  found  in  plants,  than  what  obtains  in  animals 
A solution  is  v/anted  for  one  as  well  as  the  .other. 

Upon  the  whole;  after  all  the  schemes  and  struggles  of  a 
reluctant  -Dhilosophy,  the  necessary  resort  is  to  a Deity 
The  marks  of  design  are  too  strong  to  be  gotten  over 
Design  must  have  had  a designer.  That  designer  mus 
have  been  a person.  That  person  is  God. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

of  the  natural  attributes  of  the  deity. 

It  is  an  immense  conclusion,  that  there  is  a God;  a 
perceiving,  intelligent,  designing  Being;  at  the  head  of  cre- 
ation, and  from  whose  will  it  proceeded.  The  aftribuies  of 
such  a Being,  suppose  his  reality  to  be  proved,  must  be 
adequate  to  the  magnitude,  extent,  and  multiplicity  of  his 
operations:  which  are  not  only  vast  beyond  comparison  with 
those  performed  by  any  other  power,  but,  so  far  as  respects 
our  conceptions  of  them,  infinite,  because  they  are  unlimit- 
ed on  all  sides. 

Yet  the  contemplation  of  a nature  so  exalted,  however 
surely  we  arrive  at  the  proof  of  its  existence,  overwhelms 
our  faculties.  The  mind  feels  its  powers  sink  under  the 
subject.  One  consequence  of  which  is,  that  from  painful 
abstraction  the  thoughts  seek  relief  in  sensible  images. 
Whence  may  be  deduced  the  ancient,  and  almost  univer- 
sal propensity  to  idolatrous  substitutions.  They  are  the 
resources  of  a laboring  imagination.  False  religions  usu- 
ally fall  in  with  the  natural  propensity;  true  religions,  or 
such  as  have  derived  themselves  from  the  true,  resist  it. 

It  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  the  revelations  which  we 
acknowledge,  that  whilst  they  reject  idolatry  with  its  many 
pernicious  accompaniments,  they  introduce  the  Deity  to 
human  appr 3hension,  under  an  idea  more  personal,  more 
determinate,  more  within  its  compass,  than  the  theology 
>f  nature  can  do.  And  this  they  do  by  representing  him 
» xclusively  under  the  relation  in  which  he  stands  to  our- 
selves; and,  for  the  most  part,  under  some  precise  charac- 
ter, resulting  from  that  relation,  or  from  the  history  of  his 
providences.  Which  method  suits  the  span  of  our  intellects 
much  better  than  the  universality  which  enters  into  the 
idea  of  God,  as  deduced  from  the  views  of  nature.  When, 
therefore,  these  representations  are  well  founded  in  point 


OF  THE  DEITY. 


241 


of  authority,  (for  all  depends  upon  that,)  they  afford  aeon 
descension  to  the  state  of  our  faculties,  of  which,  they  who 
have  most  reflected  upon  the  subject,  will  be  the  first  to 
acknowledge  the  want  and  the  value. 

INevertheless,  if  we  be  careful  to  imitate  the  documents 
of  our  religion,  by  confining  our  explanations  to  what  con- 
cerns ourselves,  and  do  not  affect  more  precision  in  our 
ideas  than  the  subject  allows  of,  the  several  terms  which 
are  employed  to  denote  the  attributes  of  the  Deity,  may  be 
made,  even  in  natural  religion,  to  bear  a sense  consistent 
with  truth  and  reason,  and  not  surpassing  our  compre- 
hension. 

These  terms  are,  omnipotence,  omniscience,  omnipres- 
ence, eternity,  self-existence,  necessary  existence,  spiritu- 
ality. 

‘‘Omnipotence,’^  “omniscience,”  “infinite”  power, 
“ infinite”  knowledge,  Vive  superlatives ; expressing  our  con- 
ception of  these  attributes  in  the  strongest  and  most  elevated 
*erms  which  language  supplies.  We  ascribe  power  to  the 
Deity  under  the  name  of  ‘ ‘ omnipotence,”  the  strict  and  cor- 
rect conclusion  being,  that  a power  which  could  create  such 
a world  as  this  is,  must  be,  beyond  all  comparison,  greater 
than  any  which  we  experience  in  ourselves,  than  any  which 
we  observe  in  other  visible  agents ; greater  also  than  any 
which  we  can  want,  for  our  individual  protection  and  pres- 
ervation, in  the  Being  upon  whom  we  depend.  It  is  a 
power,  likewise,  to  which  we  are  not  authorised,  by  our 
observation  or  knowledge,  to  assign  any  limits  of  space 
or  duration.  , 

Very  much  of  the  same  sort  of  remark  is  applicable  to 
the  term,  “omniscience,”  infinite  knowledge,  or  infinite 
wisdom.  In  strictness  of  language,  there  is  a difference 
between  knowledge  and  wisdom;  wisdom  always  suppos- 
ing action,  and  action  directed  by  it.  With  respect  to  the 
first,  viz.  knowledge,  the  Creator  must  know,  intimately, 
the  constitution  and  properties  of  the  things  which  he  cre- 
ated; which  seems  also  to  imply  a foreknowledge  of  their 
action  upon  one  another,  and  of  their  changes;  at  least,  so 
far  as  the  same  result  from  trains  of  physical  and  necessary 
causes.  His  omniscience  also,  as  far  as  respects  things 
present,  ’s  deducible  from  his  nature,  as  an  intelligent  be- 
ing, joined  with  the  extent,  or  rather  the  universality,  of 
his  operations.  Where  he  acts,  he  is;  and  where  he  is, 
ne  perceives.  The  wisdom  of  the  Deity,  as  testified  in  the 
works  of  creation,  surpasses  all  idea  we  have  of  wisdom, 
drawn  from  the  highest  intellectual  operations  of  the  highest 


248 


OF  THE  NATURAL  ATTRIBUTES,  kc. 


class  of  intelligent  beings  with  whom  we  are  acquainted, 
and,  which  ‘s  of  the  chief  importance  to  us,  whatever  be  its 
compass  or  extent,  which  i^  is  evidently  impossible  that  we 
should  be  able  to  determine,  it  must  be  adequate  to  the 
conduct  of  that  order  of  things  under  which  we  live.  And 
this  is  enough.  It  is  of  very  inferior  consequence,  by  what 
terms  we  express  our  notion,  or  rather  our  admiration,  of 
this  attribute.  The  terms,  which  the  piety  and  the  usage 
of  language  have  rendered  habitual  to  us,  may  he  as  pro- 
per as  any  other.  We  can  trace  this  attribute  much  beyond 
what  is  necessary  for  any  conclusion  to  which  w^e  have 
occasion  to  apply  it.  The  degree  of  knowledge  and  power, 
requisite  for  the  formation  of  created  nature,  cannot,  with 
respect  to  us,  be  distinguished  from  infinite. 

The  divine  ‘‘  omnipresence’’  stands,  in  natural  theology, 
upon  this  foundation: — In  every  part  and  place  of  the  uni- 
verse, with  which  we  are  acquainted,  we  perceive  the  exer- 
tion of  a power,  which  we  believe,  mediately  or  immediate- 
ly, to  proceed  from  the  Deity.  For  instance:  in  what  part 
or  point  of  space,  that  has  ever  been  explored,  do  we  not 
discover  attraction.^  In  what  regions  do  we  not  find  light 
In  what  accessible  portion  of  our  globe  do  we  not  meet 
with  gravity,  magnetism,  electricity?  together  with  the 
properties  also  and  powers  of  organized  substances,  of  veg- 
etable or  of  animated  nature?  Nay,  farther,  we  may  ask, 
what  kingdom  is  there  of  nature,  what  corner  of  space,  in 
which  there  is  anything  that  can  be  examined  by  us,  where 
we  do  not  fall  upon  contrivance  and  design?  The  only  re- 
flection perhaps  which  arises  in  our  minds  from  this  view 
of  the  world  around  us  is,  that  the  laws  of  nature  every- 
where prevail;  that  they  are  uniform  and  universal.  But 
what  do  we  mean  by  the  laws  of  nature,  or  by  any  law? 
Effects  are  produced  by  power,  not  by  laws.  A law  cannot 
execute  itself  A law  refers  us  to  an  agent.  Now  an 
agency  so  general,  as  that  we  cannut  discover  its  absence, 
or  assign  the  place  in.  which  some  effect  of  its  continued 
energy  is  not  found,  may,  in  popular  language  at  least, 
and,  perhaps,  without  much  deviation  from  philosophical 
strictness,  be  called  universal:  and,  with  not  quite  the 
same,  but  with  no  inconsiderable  propriety,  the  person,  or 
Being,  in  whom  that  power  resides,  or  from  whom  it  is  de- 
rived, may  be  taken  to  be  omnipresent.  He  who  upholds 
all  things  by  his  power,  may  be  said  to  be  everywhere 
present. 

Thi^  is  called  a virtual  presence.  There  is  also  what 
rnetapnysicians  denominate  an  essential  ubiquity;  and 


THE  UIVITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


249 


which  ider.  the  language  of  Scripture  seems  to  favor:  but 
the  former,  I think,  goes  as  far  as  natural  theology  carries 
us. 

^‘  Eteriiity’"  is  a negative  idea,  clothed  with  a positive 
name.  It  supposes,  in  that  to  which  it  is  applied,  a present 
existence;  and  is  the  negation  of  a beginning  or  an  end  of 
that  existence.  As  applied  to  the  Deity,  it  has  not  been 
controverted  by  those  who  acknowledge  a Deity  at  all. 
Most  assuredly,  there  never  was  a time  in  which  nothing 
existed,  because  that  condition  must  have  continued.  The 
universal  blank  must  have  remained;  nothing  could  rise 
up  out  of  it;  nothing  could  ever  have  existed  since:  noth- 
ing could  exist  now.  In  strictness,  however,  we  have  no 
concern  with  duration  prior  to  that  of  the  visible  world. 
[Jpon  this  article,  therefore,  of  theology,  it  is  sufficient  to 
know,  that  the  contriver  necessarily  existed  before  the 
contrivance. 

Self-existence”  is  another  negative  idea,  viz.  the  nega- 
.lon  of  a preceding  cause,  as  of  a progenitor,  a maker,  an 
author,  a creator. 

“Necessary”  existence  means  demonstrable  existence. 

“Spirituality”  expresses  an  idea,  made  up  of  a negative 
part,  and  of  a positive  part.  The  negative  part  consists  in 
th3  exclusion  of  some  of  the  known  properties  of  matter, 
especially  of  solidity,  of  the  vis  inerticVj  and  of  gravitation. 
The  positive  part  comprises  perception,  thought,  will, 
Dower,  action;  by  which  last  term  is  meant,  the  origination 
of  motion;  the  quality,  perhaps,  in  which  resides  the  essen- 
tial superiority  of  spirit  over  matter,  “ which  cannot  move, 
unless  it  be  moved;  and  cannot  but  move,  when  impelled 
by  another.”*  I apprehend  that  there  can  be  no  difficulty 
in  applying  to  the  Deity  both  parts  of  this  idea. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  UNITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 

Of  the  “ Unity  of  the  Deity,”  the  proof  is,  the  unxformi^ 
iy  of  plan  observable  in  the  universe.  The  universe  itself 
is  a system;  each  part  either  depending  upon  other  parts, 
or  being  connected  with  other  parts  by  some  common  law 
of  motion,  or  by  the  presence  of  some  common  substance 

* Bishop  Wilkin’s  Principles  of  Nat  Rel.  p.  106. 


250 


THE  UNITY  OF  THE  DEITY. 


One  principle  of  gravitation  causes  a stone  to  drop  towards 
the  earth,  and  the  moon  to  wheel  round  it.  One  law  of  at- 
traction carries  all  the  different  planets  about  the  sun.  This 
philosophers  demonstrate.  There  are  also  other  points  of 
agreement  amongst  them,  which  may  be  considered  as 
marks  of  the  identity  of  their  origin,  and  of  their  intelli- 
gent Author.  In  all  are  found  the  conveniency  and  stability 
derived  from  gravitation.  They  all  experience  vicissi- 
tudes of  days  and  nights,  and  changes  of  season.  They  all, 
at  least  Jupiter,  Mars,  and  Venus,  have  the  same  advanta- 
ges from  their  atmosphere  as  we  have.  In  all  the  planets, 
the  axes  of  rotation  are  permanent.  Nothing  is  more  prob- 
able, than  that  the  same  attracting  influence,  acting  accord- 
ing to  the  same  rule,  reaches  to  the  fixed  stars:  but,  if  this 
be  only  probable,  another  thing  is  certain,  viz.  that  the 
same  element  of  light  does.  The  light  from  a fixed  star 
affects  our  eyes  in  the  same  manner,  is  refracted  and  reflect- 
ed according  to  the  same  laws,  as  the  light  of  a candle 
The  velocity  of  the  light  of  the  fixed  stars  is  also  the  same 
as  the  velocity  of  the  light  of  the  sun,  reflected  from  the 
satellites  of  Jupiter.  The  heat  of  the  sun,  in  kind,  differs 
nothing  from  the  heat  of  a coal  fire. 

In  our  own  globe,  the  case  is  clearer.  New  countries 
are  continually  discovered,  but  the  old  laws  of  nature  are 
always  found  in  them:  new  plants  perhaps,  or  animals,  but 
always  in  company  with  plants  and  animals  which  wo 
already  know:  and  always  possessing  many  of  the  same 
general  properties.  We  never  get  among  such  original,  or 
totally  different,  modes  of  existence,  as  to  indicate,  that  we 
are  come  into  the  province  of  a different  Creator,  or  under 
the  directior.  of  a different  will.  In  truth,  the  same  order 
of  things  attends  us  wherever  we  go.  The  elements  act 
upon  one  another,  electricity  operates,  the  tides  rise  and 
fall,  the  magnetic  needle  elects  its  position  in  one  region 
of  the  earth  and  sea  as  well  as  in  another.  One  atmos- 
phere invests  all  parts  of  the  globe,  and  connects  all;  one 
sun  illuminates;  one  moon  exerts  its  specific  attraction  upon 
all  parts.  If  there  be  a variety  in  natural  effects,  as,  e.  g. 
in  the  tides  of  different  seas,  that  very  variety  is  the  result 
of  the  same  cause,  acting  under  different  circumstances. 
In  many  cases  this  is  proved;  in  all,  is  probable. 

The  inspection  and  comparison  of  /ir/ng  forms,  add  to 
this  argument  examples  without  number.  Of  all  large  ter- 
restrial animals,  the  structure  is  very  much  alike;  their 
senses  nearly  the  same ; their  natural  functions  and  pas- 
siong  neadv  the  same;  their  viscera  nearly  the  same,  both 


THE  UNITY  OF  THE  DEITY 


251 


in  substance,  shape,  and  office:  digestion,  nutrition,  cir 
culation,  secretion,  go  on,  in  a similar  manner,  in  all.  TJia 
great  circulating  fluid  is  the  same;  for,  I thinK,  no  differ 
ence  has  been  discovered  in  the  properties  of  blood,  from 
whatever  animal  it  be  drawn.  The  experiment  of  trar.  sfu 
sion  proves,  that  the  blood  of  one  animal  will  serve  for  an- 
other, The  skeletons  also  of  the  larger  terrestrial  animals, 
show  particular  varieties,  but  still  under  a great  general 
affinity  The  resemblance  is  somewhat  less,  yet  sufficiently 
evident,  between  quadrupeds  and  birds.  They  are  all  alike 
in  five  respects,  for  one  in  which  they  differ. 

In  fish,  which  belong  to  another  department,  as  it  weie, 
of  nature,  the  points  of  comparison  become  fewer.  But  we 
never  lose  sight  of  our  analogy,  e.  g.  we  still  meet  with  a 
stomach,  a liver,  a spine;  with  bile  and  blood;  with 
teeth;  with  eyes, — (which  eyes  are  only  slightly  varied  from 
our  own,  and  which  variation,  in  truth,  demonstrates,  not 
an  interruption,  but  a continuance  of  the  same  exquisite 
plan;  for  it  is  the  adaptation  of  the  organ  to  the  element, 
viz.  to  the  different  refraction  of  light  passing  into  the  eye 
out  of  a denser  medium.)  The  provinces,  also,  themselves 
of  water  and  earth,  are  connected  by  the  species  of  ani- 
mals which  inhabit  both;  and  also  by  a large  tribe  of  aquat- 
ic animals,  which  closely  resemble  the  terrestrial  in  their 
internal  structure;  I mean  the  cetaceous  tribe,  which  have 
hot  blood,  respiring  lungs,  bowels,  and  other  essential 
parts,  like  those  of  land  animals.  This  similitude,  surely, 
bespeaks  the  same  creation  and  the  same  Creator. 

Insects  and  shell-fish  appear  to  me  to  differ  from  other 
classes  of  animals  the  most  widely  of  any.  Yet  even  here, 
beside  many  points  of  particular  resemblance,  there  exists 
a general  relation  of  a peculiar  kind.  It  is  the  relation  of 
inversion;  the  law  of  contrariety:  namely,  that  whereas, 
in  other  animals,  the  bones,  to  which  the  muscles  are  at- 
tached, lie  ivithin  the  body;  in  insects  and  shell-fish  they 
lie  on  the  outside  of  it.  The  shell  of  a lobster  performs  to 
the  animal  the  office  of  a bone,  by  furnishing  to  the  ten- 
dons that  fixed  basis  or  immovable  fulcrum,  without  which, 
mechanically,  they  could  not  act.  The  crust  of  an  insect 
IS  its  shell,  and  answers  the  like  purpose.  The  shell  also 
of  an  oyster  stands  in  the  place  of  a bone;  the  bases  of  the 
muscles  being  fixed  to  it,  in  the  same  manner  as,  in  other 
animals,  they  are  fixed  to  the  bones.  All  which  (under 
wonderful  varieties,  indeed,  and  adaptations  of  form)  con- 
liesses  an  imb  rtion,  a remembrance,  a carrying  on,  of  the 
^ame  plan 


*252 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


The  observations  here  made  are  equally  applicable  to 
plants;  but,  I think,  unnecessary  to  be  pursued. 

It  is  a very  striking  circumstance,  and  alone  sufficient  to 
prove  all  which  we  contend  for,  that  in  this  part  likewise 
of  organized  nature,  we  perceive  a continuation  of  the  sex- 
ual system. 

Certain  however  it  is,  that  the  whol6  argument  for  the 
divine  unity,  goes  no  farther  than  to  a unity  of  counsel. 

It  may  likewise  be  acknowledged,  that  no  arguments 
which  we  are  in  possession  of,  exclude  the  ministry  of  sub- 
ordinate agents.  If  such  there  be,  they  act  under  a pre- 
siding, a controlling  will;  because  they  act  according  to 
certain  general  restrictions,  by  certain  common  rules,  and, 
tis  it  should  seem,  upon  a general  plan:  but  still  such 
agents,  and  different  ranks,  and  classes,  and  degrees  of 
them,  may  be  employed. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 

The  proof  of  the  divine  2;oodness  rests  upon  two  proposi- 
tions, each,  as  we  contend,  capable  of  being  made  out  by 
observations  drawn  from  the  appearances  of  nature. 

The  first  is,  “that  in  a va.st  plurality  of  instances  in 
which  contrivance  is  perceived,  the  design  of  the  contri- 
vance is  beneficial.*^ 

The  second,  “that  the  Deity  has  superadded  pleasure 
to  animal  sensations,  beyond  what  was  necessary  for  any 
other  purpose,  or  when  the  purpose,  so  far  as  it  was  neces- 
sary, might  hav^e  been  effected  by  the  operation  of  pain.” 

First,  “ in  a vast  plurality  of  instances  in  which  contri- 
vance is  perceived,  the  design  of  the  contrivance  is  bcne^ 
ficiaV* 

No  productions  of  nature  display  contrivance  so  mani- 
festly as  the  parts  of  animals;  and  the  parts  of  animals  have 
all  of  them,  I believe,  a real,  and,  with  very  few  exceptions, 
all  of  them  a known  and  intelligible,  subserviency  to  the 
use  of  the  animal.  Now,  when  the  multitude  of  animals  is 
considered,  the  number  of  parts  in  each,  tlieir  figure  and 
fitness,  the  faculties  depending  upon  them,  the  variety  of 
species,  the  complexity  of  structure,  the  success,  in  so 
many  cases,  and  felicity  of  the  result,  we  can  never  reflect, 
without  the  profoundest  adoration,  upon  the  character  of 


THE  GOODNESS  01  THE  DEITY. 


253 


that  Being  from  whom  all  these  things  have  proceeded:  we 
cannot  help  acknowledging,  what  an  exertion  of  benevo- 
lence creation  was;  of  a benevolence  how  minute  in  its 
care,  how  vast  in  its  comprehension! 

When  we  appeal  to  the  parts  and  faculties  of  animals, 
and  to  the  limbs  and  senses  of  animals  in  particular,  we  * 
state,  I conceive,  the  proper  medium  of  proof  for  the  con- 
clusion which  we  wish  to  establish.  I will  not  say  that 
the  insensible  parts  of  nature  are  made  solely  for  the  sensi- 
tive parts;  but  this  I say,  that,  when  we  consider  the  be- 
nevolence oftbe  Deity,  we  can  only  consider  it  in  relation 
to  sensitive  being.  ^Without  this  reference,  or  referred  to 
anything  else,  the  attribute  has  no  object;  the  term  has 
no  meaning.  Dead  matter  is  nothing.  The  parts,  there- 
fore, especially  the  limbs  and  senses  of  animals,  although 
they  constitute,  in  mass  and  quantity,  a small  portion  of  the 
material  creation,  yet,  since  they  alone  are  instruments  of 
perception,  they  compose  what  may  be  called  the  whole  of 
visible  nature,  estimated  with  a view  to  the  disposition  of 
its  Author.  Consequently,  it  is  in  these  that  we  are  to  seek 
his  character.  It  is  by  these  that  we  are  to  prove,  that  the 
world  was  made  with  a benevolent  design. 

Nor  is  the  design  abortive  It  is  a happy  world  after  all. 
The  air,  the  earth,  the  water,  teem  with  delighted  exist- 
ence. In  a spring  noon,  or  a summer  evening,  on  which- 
ever side  I turn  my  eyes,  myriads  of  happy  beings  crowd 
upon  my  view.  “The  insect  youth  are  on  the  wing.’* 
Swarms  of  new-born  flies  are  trying  their  pinions  in  the 
air.  Their  sportive  motions,  their  wanton  mazes,  their 
gratuitous  activity,  their  continual  change  of  place  without 
use  or  purpose,  testify  their  joy,  and  the  exultation  which 
they  feel  in  their  lately  discovered  faculties.  A bee  amongst 
the  flowers  in  spring,  is  one  of  the  most  cheerful  objects  that 
can  be  looked  upon.  Its  life  appears  to  be  all  enjoyment ; 
so  busy,  and  so  pleased:  yet  it  is  only  a specimen  of  insect 
life,  with  which,  by  reason  of  the  animal  being  half  domesti- 
cated, we  happen  to  be  better  acquainted  than  we  are  with 
that  of  others.  The  whole  winged  insect  tribe,  it  is  proba- 
ble, are  equally  intent  upon  their  proper  employments,  and, 
under  every  variety  of  constitution,  gratified,  and  perhaps 
equally  gratified,  by  the  offices  which  the  Author  of  their 
nature  has  assigned  to  them.  But  the  atmosphere  is  not 
the  only  scene  of  enjoyment  for  the  insect  race.  Plants 
are  covered  with  aphides,  greedily  sucking  their  juices, 
and  constan'^ly,  as  it  should  seem,  in  the  act  of  sucking,  ft 

X 


554 


THE  GOODNESS  OE  THE  DEITY. 


cannot  be  doubted  but  that  this  is  a state  of  gratiication 
What  else  should  fix  them  so  close  to  the  operation,  and 
so  long?  Other  species  are  running  about,  with  an  alacr’ty 
in  their  motions,  which  carries  with  it  every  mark  of  plea- 
sure. Large  patches  of  ground  are  sometimes  ha^f  covered 
with  these  brisk  and  sprightly  natures.  If  w e look  to  what 
the  umters  produce,  shoals  of  the  fry  of  fish  frequent  the 
margins  of  rivers,  of  lakes,  and  of  the  sea  itself  These 
are  so  happy,  that  they  know  not  what  to  do  with  themselves 
Their  attitudes,  their  vivacity,  their  leaps  out  of  the  water, 
their  frolics  in  it,  (which  I have  noticed  a thousand  times 
with  equal  attention  and  amusement, )» all  conduce  to  show 
their  excess  of  spirits,  and  are  simply  the  effects  of  that 
excess.  Walking  by  the  seaside,  in  a calm  evening,  upon 
a sandy  shore,  and  with  an  ebbing  tide,  I have  frequently 
remarked  the  appearance  of  a dark  cloud,  or  rather,  very 
thick  mist,  hanging  over  the  edge  of  the  water,  to  the 
height,  perhaps,  of  half  a yard,  and  of  the  breadth  of  two 
or  three  yards,  stretching  along  the  coast  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  and  always  retiring  with  the  water.  When 
this  cloud  came  to  be  examined,  it  proved  to  be  nothing 
else  than  so  much  space,  filled  with  young  shmmps,  in  the 
act  of  bounding  into  the  air  from  the  shallow  margin  of  the 
water,  or  from  the  wet  sand.  If  any  motion  of  a mute  ani- 
mal could  express  delight,  it  was  this:  if  they  had  meant 
to  make  signs  of  their  happiness,  they  could  not  have  done 
it  more  intelligibly.  Suppose  then,  what  I have  no  doubt 
of,  each  individual  of  this  number  to  be  in  a state  of  posi- 
tive enjoyment;  what  a sum,  collectively,  of  gratification 
and  pleasure  have  we  here  before  our  view! 

The  young  of  all  animals  appear  to  me  to  receive  pleas- 
ure simply  from  the  exercise  of  their  limbs  and  bodily  fac- 
ulties, without  reference  to  any  end  to  be  attained,  or  any 
use  to  be  answered  by  the  exertion.  A child,  without 
knowing  anything  of  the  use  of  language,  is  in  a high  de- 
gree delighted  with  being  able  to  speak.  Its  incessant 
repetition  of  the  few  articulate  sounds,  or  perhaps  of  the 
single  word  which  it  has  learned  to  pronounce,  proves  this 
point  clearly.  Nor  is  it  less  pleased  with  its  first  success- 
ful endeavours  to  walk,  or  rather  to  run,  (which  precedes 
walking,)  although  entirely  ignorant  of  the  importance  of 
the  attainment  to  its  future  life,  and  even  without  apply- 
ing it  to  any  present  purpose.  A child  is  delighted  with 
speaking,  without  having  anything  to  say;  and  with  walk- 
ing, without  knowing  where  to  go.  And,  prior  to  both 
thest>,  I am  disposed  to  believe,  that  the  waking  hours  oi 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITS. 


255 


infancy  are  agreeably  taken  np  with  the  exercise  of  vision, 
or  perliap  more  properly  speaking,  with  learning  to  see^ 
But  it  is  not  for  youth  alone  that  the  great  l^arent  of 
creation  hath  provided.  Happiness  is  found  with  the 
purring  cat,  no  less  than  with  the  playful  kitten;  in  the 
armed  chair  of  d)zing  age,  as  well  as  in  either  the  sprightli- 
ness  of  the  dance,  or  the  animation  of  the  chase.  To  novel 
ty,  to  acuteness  of  sensation,  to  hope,  to  ardor  of  pursuit, 
succeeds  what  is,  in  no  inconsiderable  degree,  an  equiva- 
lent for  them  all,  * ‘ perception  of  ease.”  Herein  is  the  exact 
dilference  between  the  young  and  the  old.  The  young  are 
not  happy,  but  when  enjoying  pleasure ; the  old  are  happy, 
when  free  fronr  pain.  And  this  constitution  suits  with  the 
degrees  of  animal  power  which  they  respectively  possess. 
The  vigor  of  youth  was  to  be  stimulated  to  action  by 
impatience  of  rest;  whilst,  to  the  imbecility  of  age,  quiet- 
ness and  repose  become  positive  gratifications.  In  one  im- 
portant respect  the  advantage  is  with  the  old.  A state  of 
ease  is,  generally  speaking,  more  attainable  than  a state  of 
pleasure.  A constitution,  therefore,  which  can  enjoy  ease, 
is  preferable  to  that  which  can  taste  only  pleasure.  The 
same  perception  of  ease  oftentimes  renders  old  age  a 
condition  of  great  comfort;  especially  when  riding  at  its 
anchor  after  a busy  or  tempestuous  life.  It  is  well  describ- 
ed by  Rousseau,  to  be  the  interval  of  repose  and  enjoy- 
ment, between  the  hurry  and  the  end  of  life.  How  far  the 
same  cause  extends  to  other  animal  natures  cannot  be  judg- 
ed of  with  certainty.  The  appearance  of  satisfaction,  with 
which  most  animals,  as  their  activity  subsides,  seek  and 
enjoy  rest,  affords  reason  to  believe,  that  this  source  of. 
gratification  is  appointed  to  advanced  life,  under  all,  or 
most,  of  its  various  forms.  In  the  species  with  which  we 
are  best  acquainted,  namely,  our  own,  I am  far,  even  as  an 
observer  of  human  life,  from  thinking  that  youth  is  its  hap- 
piest season,  much  less  the  only  happy  one:  as  a Christian, 
I am  willing  to  believe  that  there  is  a great  deal  of  truth  in 
the  following  representation  given  by  a very  pious  writer, 
as  well  as  an  excellent  man.*  “ To  the  intelligent  and 
virtuous,  old  age  presents  a scene  of  tranquil  enjoyments, 
of  obedient  appetite,  of  well-regulated  affections,  of  ma- 
turity in  knowledge,  and  of  calm  preparation  for  immor- 
tality. In  this  serene  and  dignified  state,  placed  as  it  were 
on  the  confines  of  two  worlds,  the  mind  of  a good  man 
reviews  what  is  past  wdth  the  complacency  of  an  approving 
conscience;  and  looks  forward  with  humble  confidence  in 

* Father’s  instructions;  by  Dr.  Perci^al  of  Manchester,  p.  317. 


256 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


the  mercy  of  God,  and  with  devout  aspirations  tawards  hia 
eternal  and  ever  increasing  favor.’’ 

What  is  seen  in  different  stages  of  the  same  life,  is  still 
m)re  exemplified  in  the  lives  of  different  animals.  Animal 
enjoyments  are  infinitely  diversified.  The  modes  of  life  to 
which  the  organization  of  different  animals  respectively  de- 
termines them,  are  not  only  of  various  but  of  opposite  kinds. 
Yet  each  is  happy  in  its  own.  For  instance;  animals  of 
prey  live  much  alone;  animals  of  a milder  constitution,  in 
society.  Yet  the  herring,  which  lives  in  shoals,  and  the 
sheep,  which  live  in  flocks,  are  not  more  happy  in  a crowd, 
or  more  contented  amongst  their  companions,  than  is  the 
pike,  or  the  lion,  with  the  deep  solitudes  of  the  pool,  or  the 
forest. 

But  it  will  be  said,  that  the  instances  which  we  have  heie 
brought  forward,  whether  of  vivacity  or  repose,  or  of  appa- 
rent enjoyment  derived  from  either,  are  picked  and  favor- 
able instances.  We  answer,  first,  that  they  are  instances, 
nevertheless,  which  comprise  large  provinces  of  sensitive 
existence;  that  every  case  which  we  have  described,  is  the 
case  of  millions.  At  this  moment,  in  every  given  moment 
of  time,  how  many  myriads  of  animals  are  eating  their 
food,  gratifying  their  appetites,  ruminating  in  their  holes, 
accomplishing  their  wishes,  pursuing  their  pleasures,  taking 
their  pastimes!  In  each  individual,  how  many  things  must 
go  right  for  it  to  be  at  ease;  yet  how  large  a proportion  out 
of  every  species  is  so  in  every  assignable  instant!  Sec- 
ondly, we  contend,  in  the  terms  of  our  original  proposition, 
that  throughout  the  whole  of  life,  as  it  is  diffused  in  nature, 
and  as  far  as  we  are  acquainted  with  it,  looking  to  the 
average  of  sensations,  the  plurality  and  the  prepoiiderancy 
is  in  favor  of  happiness  by  a vast  excess.  In  our  own 
species,  in  which  perhaps  the  assertion  may  be  more  ques- 
tionable than  in  any  other,  the  prepollency  of  good  over 
evil,  of  health,  for  example,  and  ease,  over  pain  and  dis- 
tress, is  evinced  by  the  very  notice  which  calamities  excite 
What  inquiries  does  the  sickness  of  our  friends  produce! 
What  conversation  their  misfortunes!  This  shows  that  the 
common  course  of  things  is  in  favor  of  happiness;  that 
happiness  is  the  rule,  misery  the  exception.  Were  the 
order  reversed,  our  attention  would  be  called  to  examples 
of  health  and  competency,  instead  of  disease  and  want. 

One  gre,at  cause  of  our  insensibility  to  the  goodness  of 
the  Creator,  is  tlie  very  extensiveness  of  his  bounty.  We 
piize  but  little  \vhat  we  share  only  in  common  with  the  rest, 
or  w’th  the  generality  of  our  species.  When  we  hear  of 


THfi  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


257 


olessings,  we  think  forthwith  of  successes,  of  prosperous 
tortunes.  of  honors,  riches,  preferments,  i.  e.  of  those  ad- 
vantages and  superiorities  over  others,  which  we  happen 
either  to  possess,  or  to  be  in  pursuit  of,  or  to  covet.  Tlie 
common  benefits  of  our  nature  entirely  escape  us.  Yet 
these  are  the  great  things.  These  constitute  what  most 
properly  ought  to  be  accounted  blessings  of  Providence; 
what  alone,  if  we  might  so  speak,  are  worthy  of  its  care. 
Nightly  rest  and  daily  bread,  the  ordinary  use  of  our  limbs, 
and  senses,  and  understandings,  are  gifts  which  admit  of  no 
comparison  with  any  other.  Yet,  because  almost  every 
man  we  meet  with  possesses  these,  we  leave  them  out  of 
our  enumeration.  They  raise  no  sentiment:  they  move  no 
gratitude.  Now  herein  is  our  judgment  perverted  by  our 
selfishness.  A blessing  ought  in  truth  to  be  the  more  sat- 
isfactory, the  bounty  at  least  of  the  donor  is  rendered  more 
conspicuous,  by  its  very  diffusion,  its  commonness,  its  cheap- 
ness; by  its  falling  to  the  lot,  and  forming  the  happiness, 
of  the  great  bulk  and  body  of  our  species,  as  well  as  of  our- 
selves. Nay,  even  when  we  do  not  possess  it,  it  ought  to 
be  matter  of  thankfulness  that  others  do.  But  we  have  a 
different  way  of  thinking.  W e court  distinction.  That 
is  not  the  worst;  we  see  nothing  but  what  has  distinc- 
tion to  recommend  it.  This  necessarily  contracts  our 
views  of  the  Creator’s  beneficence  within  a narrow  com- 
pass; and  most  unjustly.  It  is  in  those  things  which  are  so 
common  as  to  be  no  distinction,  that  the  amplitude  of  the 
divine  benignity  is  perceived. 

But  pain,  no  doubt,  and  privations  exist,  in  numerous 
instances,  and  to  a degree,  which,  collectively,  would  be 
very  great,  if  they  were  compared  with  any  other  thing  than 
with  the  mass  of  animal  fruition.  For  the  application, 
herefore,  of  our  proposition  to  that  mixed  state  of  things 
which  these  exceptions  induce,  two  rules  are  necessary,  and 
both,  I think,  just  and  fair  rules.  One  is,  that  we  regard 
those  effects  alone  which  are  accompanied  with  pi'oofs  of 
intention:  The  other,  that  when  we  cannot  resolve  all  ap- 
pearances into  benevolence  of  design,  we  make  the  few 
give  place  to  the  many;  the  little  to  the  great;  that  we  take 
our  judgment  from  a large  and  decided  preponderancy,  if 
there  be  one. 

I crave  leave  to  transcribe  into  this  place,  what  I have 
said  upon  this  subject  in  my  Moral  Philosophy: — 

“ When  God  created  the  human  species,  either  he  wish- 
ed their  happiness,  or  he  wished  their  misery,  or  he  was 
indifferent  and  ur concerned  about  either. 

X* 


258 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


If  he  had  wished  our  misery,  he  might  have  made  sure 
of  liis  purpose,  by  forming  our  senses  to  be  so  many  sores 
and  pains  to  us,  as  they  are  now  instruments  of  gratification 
and  enjoyment:  or  by  placing  us  amidst  objects  so  ill 
suited  to  our  perceptions,  as  to  have  continually  offended 
us,  instead  of  ministering  to  our  refreshment  and  delight. 
He  might  have  made,  for  example,  everything  we  tasted, 
bitter;  everything  we  saw,  loathsome;  everything  we 
touched,  a sting;  every  smell,  a stench;  and  every  sound, 
a discord 

‘‘  If  he  had  been  indifferent  about  our  happiness  or  mis- 
ery, we  must  impute  to  our  good  fortune  (as  all  design  by 
this  supposition  is  excluded)  both  the  capacity  of  our  sense^^ 
to  receive  pleasure,  and  the  supply  of  external  objects  fitted 
to  produce  it. 

“ But  either  of  these,  and  still  more  both  of  them,  be- 
ing too  much  to  be  attributed  to  accident,  nothing  remains 
but  the  first  supposition,  that  God,  when  he  created  the 
numan  species,  wished  their  happiness;  and  made  for  them 
the  provision  which  he  has  made,  with  that  view  and  for 
that  purpose. 

‘‘  The  same  argument  may  be  proposed  in  different  terms; 
thus:  Contrivance  proves  design:  and  the  predominant 
tendency  of  the  contrivance  indicates  the  disposition  of  the 
designer.  The  world  abounds  with  contrivances:  and  all 
the  contrivances  which  we  are  acquainted  with,  are  direct- 
ed to  beneficial  purposes.  Evil,  no  doubt,  exists;  but  is 
never,  that  we  can  perceive,  the  object  of  contrivance. 
Teeth  are  contrived  to  eat,  not  to  ache;  their  aching  now 
and  then  is  incidental  to  the  contrivance,  perhaps  insepara- 
ble from  it:  or  even,  if  you  will,  let  it  be  called  a defect  in 
the  contrivance;  but  it  is  not  the  object  of  it.  This  is  a 
distinction  which  well  deserves  to  be  attended  to.  In  de- 
scribing implements  of  husbandry,  you  would  hardly  say  of 
the  sickle,  that  it  is  made  to  cut  the  reaper’s  hand;  though, 
from  the  construction  of  the  instrument,  and  the  manner 
of  using  it,  this  mischief  often  follows.  But  if  you  had  oc- 
casion to  describe  instruments  of  torture  or  execution:  this 
engine,  you  would  say,  is  to  extend  the  sinews;  this  to  dis- 
•ocate  the  joints;  this  to  break  the  bones;  this  to  scorch 
the  so  cs  of  the  feet.  Here  pain  and  misery  are  the  very 
objects  of  the  contrivance.  Now,  nothing  of  this  sort  is 
to  be  found  in  the  works  of  nature.  We  never  discover  a 
train  of  contrivance  to  bring  about  an  evil  purpose.  No 
anatomist  ever  discovered  a system  of  organization  calcu- 
lated to  produce  pain  and  disease;  oi,  in  explaining  the 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


25^ 


parts  of  the  human  body,  ever  said,  this  is  to  irritate^ 
this  to  inflame;  this  duct  is  to  convey  the  gravel  to  the 
kidneys;  this  gland  to  secrete  the  humour  winch  forms  the 
gout:  if  by  chance  he  come  at  a part  of  which  he  knows 
not  the  use,  the  most  he  can  say  is,  that  it  is  useless;  no 
one  ever  suspects  that  it  is  put  there  to  incommode,  to  an- 
noy, or  to  torment.’’ 

The  TWO  CASES  which  appear  to  me  to  have  the  most  of 
difficulty  in  them,  as  forming  the  most  of  the  appearance  of 
excep  ion  to  the  representation  here  given,  are  those  of  veiir 
omoiis  animals,  and  of  animals  upon  one  another 

These  properties  of  animals,  wherever  they  are  found,  must, 
I think,  be  referred  to  design;  because  there  is,  in  all  cases 
of  the  first,  and  in  most  cases  of  the  second,  an  express  and 
distinct  organization  provided  for  the  producing  of  them. 
Under  the  first  head,  the  fangs  of  vipers,  the  stings  of  wasps 
and  scorpions,  are  as  clearly  intended  for  their  purpose,  as 
any  animal  structure  is  for  any  purpose  the  most  incontest- 
abiy  beneficial.  And  the  same  thing  must,  under  the  se- 
cond head,  be  acknowledged  of  the  talons  and  beaks  of 
birds,  of  the  tusks,  teeth,  and  claws  of  beasts  of  prey,  of  the 
shark’s  mouth,  of  the  spider’s  web,  and  of  numberless  wea- 
pons of  offence  belonging  to  different  tribes  of  voracious 
insects.  We  cannot,  therefore,  avoid  the  difficulty  by  say- 
ing, that  the  effect  was  not  intended.  The  only  question 
open  to  us  is,  whether  it  be  ultimately  evil.  From  the  con- 
fessed and  felt  imperfection  of  our  knowledge,  we  ought  to 
presume,  that  there  may  be  consequences  of  this  economy 
which  are  hidden  from  us:  from  the  benevolence'  which 
pervades  the  general  designs  of  nature,  we  ought  also  to 
presume,  that  these  consequences,  if  they  could  enter  into 
our  calculation,  would  turn  the  balance  on  the  favorable 
side.  Both  these  I contend  to  be  reasonable  presumptions. 
Not  reasonable  presumptions,  if  these  two  cases  were  the 
only  cases  which  nature  presented  to  our  ouservation;  but 
reasonable  presumptions  under  the  reflection,  that  the  cas- 
es in  question  are  combined  with  a multitude  of  intentions, 
all  proceeding  from  the  same  author,  and  all,  except  these, 
directed  to  ends  of  undisputed  utility.  Of  the  vindications, 
however,  of  this  economy,  which  we  are  able  to  assign, 
such  as  most  extenuate  the  difficulty,  are  the  following. 

With  respect  to  venomous  bites  and  stings,  it  may  be  ob- 
served,— 

1.  That  the  animal  itself  being  regarded,  the  faculty 
complained  of  is  good:  being  conducive,  in  all  cases,  to 
the  defence  of  the  animal;  in  some  cases,  to  the  subduing 


260 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


of  its  I rey ; and  in  some,  probably,  to  the  killing  of  it,  when 
caught,  by  a mortal  wound,  inflicted  in  the  passage  to  the 
stomach,  which  may  be  no  less  merciful  to  the  victim  than 
salutai;y  to  the  devourer.  In  the  viper,  for  instance,  the 
poisonous  fang  may  do  that  which,  in  other  animals  of 
prey,  is  done  by  the  crush  of  the  teeth.  Frogs  and  mice 
might  be  swallowed  alive  without  it. 

2.  But  it  will  bo  said,  that  this  provision,  when  it  ccmes 
to  the  case  of  bites,  deadly  even  to  human  bodies  and  to 
those  of  large  quadrupeds,  is  greatly  overdone;  that  it  might 
have  fulfilled  its  uge,  and  yet  have  been  much  less  delete- 
rious than  it  is.  Now  I believe  the  case  of  bites,  which 
produce  death  in  large  animals  (of  stings  I think  there  are 
none,)  to  be  very  few.  The  experiments  of  the  Abbe  Fon- 
tana, which  were  numerous,  go  strongly  to  the  proof  of  this 
point.  He  found  that  it  required  the  action  of  five  exaspe- 
rated vipers  to  kill  a dog  of  a moderate  size;  but  that,  to 
the  killing  of  a mouse  or  a frog,  a single  bite  was  sufficient; 
which  agrees  with  the  use  which  we  assign  to  the  Taculty. 
The  Abbe  seemed  to  be  of  opinion,  that  the  bite  even  of 
the  rattlesnake  would  not  usually  be  mortal;  allowing,  how- 
ever, that  in  certain  particularly  unfortunate  cases,  as  when 
the  puncture  had  touched  some  very  tender  part,  pricked  a 
principal  nerve  for  instance,  or,  as  it  is  said,  some  more 
considerable  lymphatic  vessel,  death  might  speedily  ensue. 

3.  It  has  been,  I think,  very  justly  remarked,  concerning 
serpents,  that,  whilst  only  a few  species  possess  the  veno- 
mous property,  that  property  guards  the  whole  tribe.  The 
most  innocuous  snake  is  avoided  with  as  much  care  as  a 
viper.  Now  the  terror  with  which  large  animals  regard 
this  class  of  reptiles,  is  its  protection;  and  this  terror  is 
founded  in  the  formidable  revenge,  which  a few  of  the  num- 
ber, compared  with  the  whole,  are  capable  of  taking.  The 
species  of  serpents,  described  by  Linnaeus,  amount  to  two 
hundred  and  eighteen,  of  which  thirty-two  only  are  poi- 
sonous. 

4.  It  seems  to  me,  that  animal  constitutions  are  pro- 
vided, not  only  for  each  element,  but  for  each  state  of  the 
elements,  i.  e.  for  every  climate,  and  for  every  emperature; 
and  that  part  of  the  mischief  complained  of,  arises  from  an- 
imals (the  human  animal  most  especially)  occupying  situ- 
ations upon  the  earth  which  do  not  belong  to  them,  nor 
were  ever  intended  for  their  habitation.  The  folly  and 
wickedness  of  mankind,  and  necessities  proceeding  from 
these  causes,  have  driven  multitudes  of  the  species  to  seek 
a refuge  amongst  Irurning  sands  whilst  countries,  blessed 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


261 


with  hospitable  skies,  and  with  the  most  fertile  soils,  re-^ 
main  almost  without  a human  tenant.  We  invade  the  ter- 
ritories of  wild  beasts  and  venomous  reptiles,  and  then  com- 
plain that  we  are  infested  by  their  bites  and  stings.^  Some 
accounts  of  Africa  place  this  observation  in  a strong  point 
of  view.  “ The  deserts,”  says  Adanson,  are  entirely  bar- 
ren, except  where  they  are  found  to  produce  serpents;  and 
in  such  quantities,  that  sonfe  extensive  plains  are  almost 
entirely  covered  with  them.”  These  are  the  natures  ap- 
propriated to  the  situation.  Let  them  enjoy  their  exist- 
ence; let  them  have  their  country.  Surface  enough  will 
be  left  to  man,  though  his  numbers  were  increased  a hun- 
dred fold,  and  left  to  him,  where  he  might  live  exempt 
from  these  annoyances. 

The  SECOND  CASE,  viz.  that  of  animals  devouring  one 
another,  furnishes  a consideration  of  much  larger  extent. 
To  judge  Avhether,  as  general  provision,  this  can  be  deem- 
ed an  evil,  even  so  far  as  we  understand  its  consequences, 
which,  probably,  is  a partial  understanding,  the  following 
reflections  are  fit  to  be  attended  to. 

1.  Immortality  upon  this  earth  is  out  of  the  question 
Without  death  there  could  be  no  generation,  no  sexes,  no 
parental  relation,  i,  e.  as  things  are  constituted,  no  animal 
happiness.  The  particular  duration  of  life,  assigned  to  dif- 
ferent animals,  can  form  no  part  of  the  objection;  because, 
whatever  that  duration  be,  whilst  it  remains  finite  and  lim- 
ited, it  may  always  be  asked,  why  it  is  no  longer.  The 
natural  age  of  different  animals  varies,  from  a single  day 
to  a century  of  years.  No  account  can  be  given  of  this; 
nor  could  any  be  given,  whatever  other  proportion  of  life 
had  obtained  amongst  them. 

The  term  then  of  life  in  different  animals  being  the  same 
as  it  is,  the  question  is,  what  mode  of  taking  it  away  is  the 
best  even  for  the  animal  itself  ? 

Now,  according  to  the  established  order  of  nature,  (which 
we  must  suppose  to  prevail,  or  we  cannot  reason  at  all  upon 
the  subject,)  the  three  methods  by  which  life  is  usually  put 
an  end  to,  are  acute  diseases,  decay,  and  violence.  The 
simple  and  natural  life  o^brutes,  is  not  often  visited  by  acute 
distempers;  nor  could  it  be  deemed  an  improvement  of 
their  lot,  if  they  were.  Let  it  be  considered,  therefore,  in 
what  a condition  of  suffering  and  misery  a brute  animal  is 
placed,  which  is  left  to  perish  by  decay.  In  human  sickness 
or  infirmity,  there  is  the  assistance  of  man’s  rational  fel- 
low creatures,  if  not  to  alleviate  his  pains,  at  least  to  min- 


^62 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


.«ter  to  nis  hecessities,  and  to  supply  the  place  of  his  own 
activity  A brute, in  his  wild  and  natural  state, does  every 
thing  for  himself.  When  his  strength  therefore,  or  his 
speed,  or  his  limbs,  or  his  senses  fail  him,  he  is  delivered 
over,  either  to  absolute  famine,  or  to  the  protracted  wretch- 
edness of  a life  slowly  wasted  by  the  scarcity  of  food.  Is 
it  then  to  see  the  world  filled  with  drooping,  superannua- 
ted, half  starved,  helpless,  and  unhelped  animals,  that  you 
would  alter  the  present  system  of  pursuit  and  prey? 

2.  Which  system  is  also  to  them  the  spring  of  motion 
and  activity  on  both  sides.  The  pursuit  of  its  prey  forms 
the  employment,  and  appears  to  constitute  the  pleasure,  of 
a considerable  part  of  the  animal  creation.  The  using  of 
the  means  of  defence,  or  flight,  or  precaution,  forms  also 
the  business  of  another  part.  And  even  of  this  latter  tribe, 
we  have  no  reason  to  suppose,  that  their  happiness  is  much 
molested  by  their  fears.  Their  danger  exists  continually; 
and  in  some  cases  they  seem  to  be  so  far  sensible  of  it,  as 
to  provide  in  the  best  manner  they  can  against  it;  but  it 
is  only  when  the  attack  is  actually  made  upon  them,  that 
they  appear  to  suffer  from  it.  To  contemplate  the  insecu- 
rity of  their  condition  with  anxiety  and  dread,  requires  a 
degree  of  reflection,  which  (happily  for  themselves)  they  do 
not  possess.  A hare,  notwithstanding  the  number  of  its 
dangers  and  its  enemies,  is  as  playful  an  animal  as  any 
other. 

3.  But,  to  do  justice  to  the  question,  the  system  of  animal 
destruction  ought  always  to  be  considered  in  strict  connex- 
ion with  another  property  of  animal  nature,  viz.  superfecun^ 
dity.  They  are  countervailing  qualities.  One  subsists  by 
the  correction  of  the  other.  In  treating,  therefore,  of  the 
subject  under  this  view,  (which  is,  I believe,  the  true  one,) 
our  business  will  be,  first,  to  point  out  the  advantages  which 
are  gained  by  the  powers  in  nature  of  a superabundant  mul- 
tiplication; and  then  to  show,  that  these  advantages  are 
so  many  reasons  for  appointing  that  system  of  animal  hos- 
tilities, which  we  are  endeavouring  to  account  for. 

In  almost  all  cases,  nature  produces  her  supplies  with 
profusion.  A single  cod-fish  spawns,  in  one  season,  a 
greater  number  of  eggs  than  all  the  inhabitants  of  England 
amount  to.  A thousand  other  instances  of  prolific  genera- 
tion might  be  stated,  which,  though  not  equal  to  this,  would 
carry  on  the  increase  of  the  species  with  a rapidity  wliich 
outruns  calculation,  and  to  an  immeasurable  extent.  The 
advantages  of  such  a constitution  are  tw : : first,  that  it  tends 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEIT7. 


263 


to  keep  the  world  always  full:  whilst,  seccnJly,  it  allows 
the  proportion  between  the  several  species  of  animals  to  be 
differently  modified,  as  different  purposes  require,  or  as 
different  situations  may  afford  for  them  room  and  food. 
Where  this  vast  fecundity  meets  with  a vacancy  fitted  to 
-eceive  the  species,  there  it  operates  with  its  whole  effect; 
there  it  pours  in  its  numbers,  and  replenishes  the  waste. 
We  complain  of  what  we  call  the  exorbitant  multiplication 
of  some  troublesome  insects;  not  reflecting  that  large  por- 
tions of  nature  might  be  left  void  without  it.  If  the  ac- 
counts of  travellers  may  be  depended  upon,  immense  tracts 
of  forest  in  North  America  would  be  nearly  lost  to  sensitive 
existence,  if  it  were  not  for  gnats.  “ In  the  thinly  inhab- 
ited regions  of  America,  in  which  the  waters  stagnate  and 
the  climate  is  warm,  the  whole  air  is  filled  with  crowds  of 
these  insects.”  Thus  it  is,  that  where  we  look  for  solitude 
and  deathlike  silence,  we  meet  with  animation,  activity, 
enjoyment;  with  a busy,  a happy,  and  a peopled  world. 
Again;  hosts  of  mice  are  reckoned  amongst  the  plagues  of 
the  northeast  part  of  Europe;  whereas  vast  plains  in  Sibe- 
ria, as  we  learn  from  good  authority,  would  be  lifeless  with- 
out them.  The  Caspian  deserts  are  converted  by  their 
presence  into  crowded  warrens.  Between  the  Volga  and 
the  Yaik,  and  in  the  country  of  Hyrcania,  the  ground,  says 
Pallas,  is  in  many  places  covered  with  little  hills,  raised  by 
the  earth  cast  out  in  forming  the  burrows.  Do  we  so 
envy  these  blissful  abodes,  as  to  pronounce  the  fecundity 
by  which  they  are  supplied  with  inhabitants,  to  be  an  evil; 
a subject  of  complaint,  and  not  of  praise?  Farther;  by 
virtue  of  this  same  superfecundity,  what  we  term  destruc- 
tion, becomes  almost  instantly  the  parent  of  life.  What  we 
call  blights,  are  oftentimes  legions  of  animated  beings, 
claiming  their  portion  in  the  bounty  of  nature.  What  cor- 
rupts the  produce  of  the  earth  to  us,  prepares  it  for  them. 
And  it  is  by  means  of  their  rapid  multiplication,  that  they 
take  possession  of  their  pasture;  a slow  propagation  would 
not  meet  the  opportunity. 

But  in  conjunction  with  the  occasional  use  of  this  fruit- 
fulness, we  observe,  also,  that  it  allows  the  proportion  be- 
tween the  several  species  of  animals,  to  be  differently  mod- 
ified, as  different  purposes  of  utility  may  require.  When 
the  forests  of  America  come  to  be  cleared,  ana  the  swamps 
drained,  our  gnats  will  give  place  to  other  inhabitants.  If 
the  population  of  Europe  should  spread  to  the  north  and 
the  east,  the  mice  will  retire  before  the  husbandman  and 


iG4  THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 

the  shepherd,  and  yield  their  station  to  herds  and  flocks.  In 
what  concerns  the  human  species,  it  may  be  a part  of  the 
scheme  of  Providence,  that  the  earth  should  be  inhabited 
by  a shifting,  or  perhaps  a circulating  population.  In  this 
economy,  it  is  possible  that  there  may  be  the  following  ad- 
vantages: When  old  countries  are  become  exceedingly 
corrupt,  simpler  modes  of  life,  purer  morals,  and  better  in- 
stitutions, may  rise  up  in  new  ones,  whilst  fresh  soils  reward 
he  cultivator  with  more  plentiful  returns.  Thus  the  diflei- 
ent  portions  of  the  globe  come  into  use  in  succession  as 
the  residence  of  man;  and,  in  his  absence,  entertain 
other  guests,  which,  by  their  sudden  multiplication,  fill  the 
chasm.  In  domesticated  animals,  we  find  the  effect  of  their 
fecundity  to  be,  that  we  can  always  command  numbers; 
we  can  always  have  as  many  of  any  particular  species  as 
w^e  please,  or  as  we  can  support.  Nor  do  we  complain  of 
its  excess;  it  being  much  more  easy  to  regulate  abundance, 
than  to  supply  scarcity. 

But  then  this  superfeciindity,  though  of  great  occasional 
use  and  importance,  exceeds  the  ordinary  capacity  of  nature 
to  receive  or  support  its  progeny.  All  superabundance 
supposes  destruction,  or  must  destroy  itself.  Perhaps  there 
is  no  species  of  terrestrial  animals  whatever,  which  would 
not  overrun  the  earth,  if  it  were  permitted  to  multiply  in 
perfect  safety;  or  of  fish,  which  would  not  fill  the  ocean:  at 
least,  if  any  single  species  were  left  to  their  natural  increase 
without  disturbance  or  restraint,  the  food  of  other  species 
would  be  exhausted  by  their  maintenance.  It  is  necessary, 
therefore,  that  the  effects  of  such  prolific  faculties  be  cur- 
tailed. In  conjunction  with  other  checks  and  limits,  all  sub- 
servient to  the  same  purpose,  are  the  thinnings  which  take 
place  among  animals,  by  their  action  upon  one  another.  In 
some  instances  we  ourselves  experience,  very  directly,  the 
use  of  these  hostilities.  One  species  of  insects  rids  us  of 
another  species;  or  reduces  their  ranks.  A third  species, 
perhaps,  keeps  the  second  within  bounds;  and  birds  or  liz  * 
ards  are  a fence  against  the  inordinate  increase  by  which 
even  these  last  might  infest  us.  In  other  more  numerous, 
and  possibly  more  important  instances,  this  disposition  of 
things,  although  less  necessary  or  useful  to  us,  and  of  course 
less  observed  by  us,  may  be  necessary  and  useful  to  certain 
other  species;  or  even  for  the  preventing  of  the  loss  of  cer- 
tain species  from  the  universe:  a misfortune  which  seems 
to  be  studiously  guarded  against.  Though  there  may  be 
the  appearance  of  failure  in  some  of  the  details  of  Nature’s 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


265 


works,  in  her  great  purposes  there  never  are.  Her  species 
never  fail.  The  provision  which  was  originally  made  for 
continuing  the  replenishment  of  the  world,  has  proved  itself 
to  be  effectual  through  a long  succession  of  ages. 

What  farther  shows,  that  the  system  of  destruction 
amor.gst  animals  holds  an  express  relation  to  the  system  of 
fecundity  ;^hat  they  are  parts  indeed  of  one  compensatory 
scheme;  is,  that  in  each  species  the  fecundity  bears  a 
proportion  to  the  smallness  of  the  animal,  to  the  weakness, 
to  the  shortness  of  its  natural  term  of  life,  and  to  the  dan- 
gers and  enemies  by  which  it  is  surrounded.  An  elephant 
produces  but  one  calf:  a butterfly  lays  six  hundred  eggs. 
Birds  of  prey  seldom  produce  more  than  two  eggs:  the 
sparrow  tribe,  and  the  duck  tribe,  frequently  sit  upon  a 
dozen.  In  the  rivers,  we  meet  with  a thousand  minnows 
for  one  pike;  in  the  sea,  a million  of  herrings  for  a single 
shark.  Compensation  obtains  throughout.  Defenceless- 
ness and  devastation  are  repaired  by  fecundity. 

We  have  dwelt  the  longer  upon  these  considerations,  be- 
cause the  subject  to  which  they  apply,  namely,  that  of  ani- 
mals devouring  one  another,  forms  the  chief,  if  not  the  only 
instance,  in  the  works  of  the  Deity;  of  an  economy,  stamp- 
ed by  marks  of  design,  in  which  the  character  of  utility  can 
be  called  in  question.  The  case  of  venomous  animals  is  of 
much  inferior  consequence  to  the  case  of  prey,  and  in 
some  degree,  is  also  included  under  it.  To  both  cases,  it 
is  probable  that  many  more  reasons  belong,  than  those  of 
which  we  are  in  possession 

Our  FIRST  PROPOSITION,  and  that  which  we  have  hither- 
to been  defending,  was,  ‘‘that,  in  a vast  plurality  of  in- 
stances in  which  contrivance  is  perceived,  the  design  of  the 
contrivance  is  beneficial.’’ 

Our  SECOND  PROPOSITION  is,  “that  the  Deity  has  ad- 
ded pleasure  to  animal  sensations,  beyond  what  was  neces- 
sary for  any  other  purpose,  or  when  the  purpose,  so  far  as 
it  was  necessary,  might  have  been  effected  by  the  opera- 
tion of  pain.” 

This  proposition  may  be  thus  explained:  The  capaci- 
ties which,  according  to  the  established  course  of  nature,  are 
necessary  to  the  supporter  preservation  of  an  animal,  how- 
ever manifestly  they  may  be  the  result  of  an  organization 
contrived  for  the  purpose,  can  only  be  deemed  an  act  or 
a part  of  the  same  will,  as  that  which  decreed  the  exis- 
tence of  the  animal  itself;  because,  whether  the  creation 
Droceedoi  from  a benevolent  or  a malevolent  being,  these 


266 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITF. 


capacities  must  have  been  given,  if  the  animal  existed  a, 
all.  Animal  properties  therefore,  which  fall  under  this  de^ 
scription,  do  not  strictly  prove  the  goodness  of  God:  they 
may  prove  the  existence  of  the  Deity;  they  may  prove  a 
high  degree  of  power  and  intelligence:  but  they  do  not 
prove  his  goodness:  forasmuch  as  they  must  have  been 
found  in  any  creation  which  was  capable  of  continuance, 
although  it  is  possible  to  suppose,  that  such  a creation 
might  have  been  produced  by  a being,  whose  views  tested 
upon  misery. 

But  there  is  a class  of  properties,  which  may  be  said  to 
be  superadded  from  an  intention  expressly  directed  to  hap- 
piness; an  intention  to  give  a happy  existence  distinct  from 
the  general  intention  of  providing  the  means  of  existence; 
and  that  is,  of  capacities  for  pleasure,  in  cases  wherein, 
so  far  as  the  conservation  of  the  individual  or  of  the  species 
IS  concerned,  they  were  not  wanted,  or  wherein  the  pur- 
pose might  have  been  secured  by  the  operation  of  pain. 
The  provision  which  is  made  of  a variety  of  objects,  not 
necessary  to  life,  and  ministering  only  to  our  pleasures;  and 
fhe  properties  given  to  the  necessaries  of  life  themselves, 
by  which  they  contribute  to  pleasure  as  well  as  preserva- 
tion; show  a farther  design  than  that  of  giving  existence.^ 

A single  instance  will  make  all  this  clear.  Assuming 
the  necessity  of  food  for  the  support  of  animal  life;  it  is  re- 
quisite, that  the  animal  be  provided  with  organs,  fitted  for 
the  procuring,  receiving,  and  digesting  of  its  food.  It  may 
also  be  necessary,  that  the  animal  be  impelled  by  its  sensa- 
tions to  exert  its  organs.  But  the  pain  of  hunger  would  do 
all  this.  Why  add  pleasure  to  the  act  of  eating;  sweetness 
and  relish  to  food.^  Why  a new  and  appropriate  sense 
for  the  perception  of  the  pleasure.^  Why  should  the  juice 
of  a peach,  applied  to  the  palate,  affect  the  part  so  different- 
ly from  what  it  does  when  rubbed  upon  the  palm  of  the 
hand?  This  is  a constitution,  which,  so  far  as  appears  to 
me,  can  be  resolved  into  nothing  but  the  pure  benevolence 
of  the  Creator.  Eating  is  necessary;  but  the  pleasure  at- 
tending it  is  not  necessary;  and  that  this  pleasure  depends 
not  only  upon  our  being  in  possession  of  the  sense  of  taste, 
which  is  different  from  every  other,  but  upon  a particular 

* See  this  topic  considered  in  Dr.  Balguy’s  Treatise  upon  the  Divine 
Benevolence.  This  excellent  author,  first,  I think,  proposed  it;  and 
nearly  in  the  terms  in  which  it  is  here  stated.  Some  other  observations 
also  under  thi?  head,  are  taken  from  that  treatise. 


THE  GOODNE'S^  OF  THE  DEITY 


267 


state  of  the  organ  in  which  it  resides,  a felicitous  adapta- 
tion of  the  organ  to  the  object^  will  be  confessed  by  any 
one,  who  may  happen  to  have  evperienced  that  vitiation  of 
taste  which  frequently  occurs  m fcvors,  when  every  taste  is 
irregular,  and  every  one  bad. 

In  mentioning  the  gratifications  cf  the  palate,  it  may  be 
said,  that  we  have  made  choice  of  a ti  iRlng  example.  I am 
not  of  that  opinion.  They  afford  a share  of  enjoyment  to 
man:  but  to  brutes,  I believe  that  they  are  of  very  great 
importance.  A horse  at  liberty  passes  a great  part  of  his 
waking  hours  in  eating.  To  the  ox,  the  sheep,  the  deer, 
and  other  ruminating  animals,  the  pleasure  is  doubled 
Their  whole  time  almost  is  divided  between  browsing  upon 
their  pasture  and  chewing  their  cud.  Whatever  the  pleas- 
ure be,  it  is  spread  over  a large  portion  of  their  existence 
If  there  be  animals,  such  as  the  lupous  fish,  which  swallow 
their  prey  whole,  and  at  once,  without  any  time,  as  it  should 
seem,  for  either  drawing  out,  or  relishing  the  taste  in  the 
mouth,  is  it  an  improbable  conjecture,  that  the  seat  of  taste 
with  them  is  in  the  stomach.^  or,  at  least,  that  a sense  ot 
pleasure,  whether  it  be  taste  or  not,  accompanies  the  disso- 
lution of  the  food  in  that  receptacle,  which  dissolution  in 
general  is  carried  on  very  slowly  ? If  this  opinion  be  right, 
they  are  more  than  repaid  for  their  defect  of  palate.  The 
feast  lasts  as  long  as  the  digestion. 

In  seeking  for  argument,  we  need  not  stay  to  insist  upon 
the  comparative  importance  of  our  example;  for  the  obser- 
vation holds  equally  of  all,  or  of  three  at  least,  of  the  other 
senses.  The  necessary  purposes  of  hearing  might  have 
been  answered  without  harmony;  of  smell,  without  fra- 
grance; of  vision,  without  beauty.  Now,  ‘‘If the  Deity 
had  been  indifferent  about  our  happiness  or  misery,  we 
must  impute  to  our  good  fortune  (as  all  design  by  this  suppo- 
sition is  excluded)  both  the  capacity  of  our  senses  to  receive 
pleasure,  and  the  supply  of  external  objects  fitted  to  excite 
it.’'  I allege  these  as  two  felicities,  for  they  are  different 
things,  yet  both  necessary:  the  sense  being  formed,  the 
objects  which  were  applied  to  it  might  not  have  suited  it; 
the  :)biects  being  fixed,  the  sense  might  not  have  agreed 
wita  them.  A coincidence  is  here  required,  which  no  acci- 
dent can  account  for.  There  are  three  possible  suppositions 
upon  the  subject,  and  no  more.  The  first,  that  the  sense 
by  its  original  constitution,  was  made  to  suit  the  object:  the 
second,  that  the  object,  by  its  original  constitution,  was 
made  to  suit  the  sense:  the  third,  that  the  sense  is  so  con- 


268 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


stituted,  as  to  be  able,  either  universally,  or  with.n  certain 
limits,  by  habit  and  familiarity,  to  render  every  object 
pleasant.  Whichever  of  these  suppositions  we  adopt,  the 
effect  evinces,  on  the  part  of  the  Author  of  IVature,  a stu- 
dious benevolence.  If  the  pleasures  which  we  derive  from 
any  of  our  senses  depend  upon  an  original  congruity  be- 
tween the  sense  and  the  properties  perceived  by  it,  we 
know  by  experience,  that  the  adjustment  demanded,  with 
respect  to  the  qualities  which  were  conferred  upon  the 
objects  that  surround  us,  not  only  choice  and  selection, 
out  of  a boundless  variety  of  possible  qualities,  with  which 
these  objects  might  have  been  endued,  but  a proporlioning 
also  of  degree,  because  an  excess  or  defect  of  intensity 
spoils  the  perception,  as  much  almost  as  an  error  in  the 
kind  and  nature  of  the  quality.  Likewise  the  degree  of 
dulness  or  acuteness  in  the  sense  itself,  is  no  arbitrary 
thing,  but  in  order  to  preserve  the  congruity  here  spoken 
of,  requires  to  be  in  an  exact  or  near  correspondency 
with  the  strength  of  the  impression.  The  duiness  of  the 
senses  forms  the  complaint  of  old  age.  Persons  in  fe- 
vers, and,  I believe,  in  most  maniacal  cases,  experience 
great  torment  from  their  preternatural  acuteness.  An  in- 
creased, no  less  than  an  impaired  sensibility,  induces  a 
state  of  disease  and  suffering. 

The  doctrine  of  a specific  congruity  between  animal 
senses  and  their  objects,  is  strongly  favored  by  what  is  ob- 
served of  insects  in  the  selection  of  their  food.  Some  of 
these  will  feed  upon  one  kind  of  plant  or  animal,  and  upon 
no  other:  some  caterpillars  upon  the  cabbage  alone;  some 
upon  the  black  currant  alone.  The  species  of  caterpillar 
which  eats  the  vine,  will  starve  upon  the  elder;  nor  will 
that  which  we  find  upon  fennel,  touch  the  rosebush.  Some 
insects  confine  themselves  to  two  or  three  kinds  of  plants 
or  animals.  Some  again  show  so  strong  a preference,  as 
to  afford  reason  to  believe,  that,  though  they  may  be  driv- 
en by  hunger  to  others,  they  are  led  by  the  pleasure  of 
taste  to  a few  particular  plants  alone:  and  all  this,  as  it 
should  seem,  independently  of  habit  or  imitation. 

But  should  we  accept  the  third  hypothesis,  and  even  car- 
ry it  so  far,  as  to  ascribe  everything  which  concerns  the 
question  to  habit,  (as  in  certain  species,  the  human  spe- 
cies most  particularly,  there  is  reason  to  attribute  some- 
thing,) we  have  then  before  us  an  animal  capacity,  not  less 
perhaps  to  be  admired  than  the  native  congruities  which 
the  other  scheme  adopts.  It  cannot  be  shown  to  result 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


^269 


trom  any  fixed  necessity  in  nature,  that  what  is  frequently 
applied  to  the  senses  should  of  course  become  agreeable  to 
them.  It  is,  so  far  as  it  subsists,  a power  of  accommoda- 
tion provided  in  these  senses  by  the  Author  of  their  struc- 
ture, and  forms  a part  of  their  perfection. 

In  whichever  way  we  regard  the  senses,  they  appear  to 
be  specific  gifts,  ministering,  not  only  to  preservation,  but 
to  pleasure.  But  what  we  usually  call  the  senses  are  prob- 
ably themselves  far  from  being  the  only  vehicles  of  enjoy- 
ment, or  the  whole  of  our  constitution,  which  is  calculated 
for  the  same  purpose.  We  have  many  internal  sensations 
of  the  most  agreeable  kind,  hardly  referable  to  any  of  the 
five  senses.  Some  physiologists  have  holden,  that  all  se- 
cretion is  pleasurable;  and  that  the  complacency  which  in 
health,  without  any  external  assignable  object  to  excite  it, 
we  derive  from  life  itself,  is  the  effect  of  our  secretions  go- 
ing on  well  within  us.  All  this  may  be  true;  but  if  true, 
what  reason  can  be  assigned  for  it,  except  the  will  of  the 
Creator?  It  may  reasonably  be  asked,  why  is  anything  a 
pleasure?  and  I know  of  no  answer  which  can  be  returned 
to  the  question,  but  that  which  refers  it  to  appointment. 
We  can  give  no  account  whatever  of  our  pleasures  in  the 
simple  and  original  perception;  and,  even  when  physical 
sensations  are  assumed,  we  can  seldom  account  for  them  in 
the  secondary  and  complicated  shapes  in  which  they  take 
the  name  of  diversions.  I never  yet  met  with  a sportsman, 
who  could  tell  me  in  what  the  sport  consisted;  who  could 
resolve  it  into  its  principle,  and  state  that  principle.  I 
have  been  a great  follower  of  fishing  myself,  and  in  its 
cheerful  solitude  have  passed  some  of  the  happiest  hours  of 
a sufficiently  happy  life;  but  to  this  moment,  I could  never 
trace  out  the  source  of  the  pleasure  which  it  afforded  me. 

The  ‘‘  quantum  in  rebus  inanq^!”  whether  applied  to  our 
amusements  or  to  our  graver  pursuits,  (to  which  in  truth 
it  sometimes  equally  belongs,)  is  always  an  unjust  com- 
plaint. If  trifles  engage,  and  if  trifles  make  us  happy,  the 
true  reflection  suggested  by  the  experiment,  is  upon  the 
tendency  of  nature  to  gratification  and  enjoyment;  which 
is,  in  other  words,  the  goodness  of  its  Author  toward  his 
sensitive  creation. 

Rational  natures  also,  as  such,  exhibit  qualities  which 
help  to  confirm  the  truth  of  our  position.  The  degree  of 
understanding  found  in  mankind,  is  usually  much  greater 
than  what  is  necessary  for  mere  preservation.  The  pleasure 
of  choosing  for  themselves,  and  of  prosecuting  the  object 

Y* 


270 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THi.  DEITY. 


of  their  choice,  should  seem  to  be  ai.  original  source  of 
enjoyment.  The  pleasures  received  from  things,  greats 
beautiful,  or  new,  from  imitation,  or  from  the  liberal  arts 
are  in  some  measure,  not  only  superadded,  but  unmixed, 
gratifications,  having  no  pains  to  balance  them.* 

I do  not  know  whether  our  attachment  to  property  be 
not  something  more  than  the  mere  dictate  of  reason,  or 
even  than  the  mere  effect  of  association.  Property  com- 
municates a charm  to  whatever  is  the  object  of  it.  It  is 
the  first  of  our  abstract  ideas;  it  cleaves  to  us  the  closest 
and  the  longest.  It  endears  to  the  child  its  plaything,  to 
the  peasant  his  cottage,  to  the  landholder  his  estate.  It 
supplies  the  place  of  prospect  and  scenery.  Instead  of 
coveting  the  beauty  of  distant  situations,  it  teaches  every 
man  to  find  it  in  his  own.  It  gives  boldness  and  gran- 
deur to  plains  and  fens,  tinge  and  coloring  to  clays  and 
fallows. 

All  these  considerations  come  in  aid  of  our  second  pro- 
position. The  reader  will  now  bear  in  mind  what  our  two 
propositions  were.  They  were,  firstly,  that  in  a vast  plu- 
rality of  instances  in  which  contrivance  is  perceived,  the 
design  of  the  contrivance  is  beneficial:  secondly,  that  the 
Deity  has  added  pleasure  to  animal  sensations  beyond  what 
was  necessary  for  any  other  purpose;  or  when  the  purpose, 
so  far  as  it  was  necessary,  might  have  been  effected  by  the 
operation  of  pain. 

Whilst  these  propositions  can  be  maintained,  we  are 
authorised  to  ascribe  to  the  Deity  the  character  of  benevo- 
lence: and  what  is  benevolence  at  all,  must  in  him  be  i/i- 
Jinite  benevolence,  by  reason  of  the  infinite,  that  is  to  say, 
the  incalculably  great,  number  of  objects  upon  which  it  is 
exercised. 

Of  the  ORIGIN  OF  EVIL,  no  universal  solution  has  been 
discovered;  I mean,  no  solution  which  reaches  to  all  cases 
of  complaint.  The  most  comprehensive  is  that  which 
arises  from  the  consideration  of  general  rules.  We  may,  I 
think,  without  much  difficulty,  be  brought  to  admit  the  four 
following  points:  first,  that  important  advantages  may  ac- 
crue to  the  universe  from  the  order  of  nature  proceeding  ac- 
cording to  general  laws:  secondly,  that  general  laws,  how 
ever  well  set  and  constituted,  often  thwart  and  cross  one 
another:  thirdly,  that  from  these  thwar^.ings  and  crossings, 
frequent  particular  inconveniences  will  arise:  and,  fourth 

^ Balguy  on  the  Divine  Benevolence. 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


271 


ly,  tLat  it  agrees  with  our  observation  to  suppose,  that 
some  degree  of  these  inconveniences  takes  place  in  the 
works  of  nature.  These  points  may  be  allowed;  and  it 
may  also  be  asserted,  that  the  general  laws  with  which  we 
are  acquainted,  are  directed  to  beneficial  ends.  On  the 
other  hand,  with  many  of  these  laws  we  are  not  acquaint- 
ed at  all,  or  we  are  totally  unable  to  trace  them  in  theii 
branches,  and  in  their  operation;  the  effect  of  which  igno- 
rance is,  that  they  cannot  be  of  importance  to  us  as  meas- 
ures by  which  to  regulate  our  conduct.  The  conservation 
of  them  may  be  of  importance  in  other  respects,  or  to  other 
beings,  but  we  are  uninformed  of  their  value  or  use;  unin- 
formed, consequently,  when,  and  how  far,  they  may  or  may 
not  be  suspended,  or  their  effects  turned  aside,  by  a presi- 
ding and  benevolent  will,  without  incurring  greater  evils 
than  those  which  would  be  avoided.  The  consideration, 
therefore,  of  general  laws,  although  it  may  concern  the 
question  of  the  origin  of  evil  very  nearly,  (which  I think  it 
does,)  rests  in  views  disproportionate  to  our  faculties,  and 
in  a knowledge  which  we  do  not  possess.  It  serves  rather 
to  account  for  the  obscurity  of  the  subject,  than  to  supply 
us  with  distinct  answers  to  our  difficulties.  However, 
whilst  we  assent  to  the  above  stated  propositions  as  princi- 
ples, whatever  uncertainty  we  may  find  in  the  application, 
we  lay  a ground  for  believing,  that  cases  of  apparent  evil, 
for  which  ice  can  suggest  no  particular  reason,  are  govern- 
ed by  reasons,  which  are  more  general,  which  lie  deeper 
in  the  order  of  second  causes,  and  which  on  that  account 
are  removed  to  a greater  distance  from  us. 

The  doctrine  of  imperfections,  or,  as  it  is  called,  of  evils 
of  imperfection,  furnishes  an  account,  founded,  like  the 
former,  in  views  of  universal  nature.  The  doctrine  is 
briefly  this: — It  is  probable,  that  creation  may  be  better 
replenished  by  sensitive  beings  of  different  sorts,  than  by 
sensitive  beings  all  of  one  sort.  It  is  likewise  probable, 
that  it  may  be  better  replenished  by  different  orders  of  be- 
ings rising  one  above  another  in  gradation,  than  by  beings 
possessed  of  equal  degrees  of  perfection.  Now,  a grada- 
tion of  such  beings,  implies  a gradation  of  imperfections. 
No  class  can  justly  complain  of  the  imperfections  which 
belong  to  its  place  in  the  scale,  unless  it  were  allowablo 
for  it  to  complain,  that  a scale  of  being  was  appointed  in 
rature;  for  which  appointment  there  appear  to  be  reasons 
of  wisdom  and  goodness. 

In  ike  manner,  finiteness,  or  what  is  resolvable  into 


272 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


finiteness^  in  inanimate  subjects,  can  never  be  a just  sub- 
ject of  compldint,  because  if  it  were  ever  so,  it  would  be 
always  so:  we  mean,  that  we  can  never  reasonably  de^ 
mand  that  things  should  be  larger  or  more,  when  the  same 
demand  might  be  made,  whatever  the  quantity  or  number 
was. 

And  to  me  it  seems,  that  the  sense  of  mankind  has  so 
far  acquiesced  in  these  reasons,  as  that  we  seldom  complain 
of  evils  of  this  class,  when  wejclearly  perceive  them  to  be 
such.  What  1 have  to  add,  therefore,  is,  that  we  ought  not 
lo  complain  of  some  other  evils  which  stand  upon  the  same 
foot  of  vindication  as  evils  of  confessed  imperfection.  We 
never  complain,  that  the  globe  of  our  earth  is  too  small; 
nor  should  we  complain,  if  it  were  even  much  smaller.'  But 
where  is  the  difference  to  us,  between  a less  globe,  and 
part  of  the  present  being  uninhabitable.^  The  inhabitants 
of  an  island  may  be  apt  enough  to  murmur  at  the  sterility 
of  some  parts  of  it,  against  its  rocks,  or  sands,  or  swamps; 
but  no  one  thinks  himself  authorised  to  murmur,  simply 
because  the  island  is  not  larger  than  it  is.  Yet  these  are 
the  same  griefs. 

The  above  are  the  two  metaphysical  answers  which  have 
been  given  to  this  great  question.  They  are  not  the  worse 
for  being  metaphysical,  provided  they  be  founded  (which  I 
think  they  are)  in  right  reasoning:  but  they  are  of  a na- 
ture too  wide  to  be  brought  under  our  survey,  and  it  is  of- 
ten difficult  to  apply  them  in  the  detail.  Our  speculations, 
therefore,  are  perhaps  better  employed  Avhen  they  confine 
themselves  within  a narrower  circle. 

The  observations  which  follow,  are  of  this  more  limited, 
but  more  determinate,  kind. 

Of  bodily  pain,  the  principal  observation,  no  doubt,  is 
that  which  we  have  already  made,  and  already  dwelt  upon, 
viz.  ‘‘  that  it  is  seldom  the  object  of  contrivance ; that  when 
it  is  so,  the  contrivance  rests  ultimately  in  good.” 

To  which,  however,  may  be  added,  that  the  annexing  of 
pain  to  the  means  of  destruction  is  a salutary  provision; 
inasmuch  as  it  teaches  vigilance  and  caution;  both  give 
notice  of  danger,  and  excites  those  endeavours  which  may 
be  necessary  to  preservation.  The  evil  consequence  which 
sometimes  arises  from  the  want  of  that  timely  intimation  of 
danger  which  ])ain  gives,  is  known  to  the  inhabitants  of 
cold  countries  by  the  example  of  frost-bitten  limbs.  I have 
conversed  with  patients  who  have  lost  toes  and  fingers  by 
this  cause.  They  ha^e  in  general  told  rne,  that  they  were 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


273 


totally  unconscious  of  an}  local  uneasiness  at  the  time 
Some  I have  heard  declare,  that  whilst  they  were  about 
their  employment,  neither  their  situation,  nor  the  state  of 
the  air  was  unpleasant.  They  felt  no  pain;  they  suspect- 
ed no  mischief;  till,  by  the  application  of  warmth,  they 
discovered,  too  late,  the  fatal  injury  which  some  of  their  ex- 
tremities had  suffered.  I say  that  this  shows  the  use  of  pain, 
and  that  we  stand  in  need  of  such  a monitor.  I believe 
also,  that  the  use  extends  farther  than  we  suppose,  or  can 
now  trace;  that  to  disagreeable  sensations  we,  and  all  an- 
imals, owe,  or  have  owed,  many  habits  of  action  which  are 
salutary,  but  which  are  become  so  familiar,  as  not  easily  to 
be  referred  to  their  origin. 

Pain  ^Iso  itself  is  not  without  its  alleviations.  It  may  be 
violent  and  frequent;  but  it  is  seldom  both  violent  and  long 
continued:  and  its  pauses  and  intermissions  become  posi- 
tive pleasures.  It  has  the  power  of  shedding  a satisfaction 
over  intervals  of  ease,  which  I believe  few  enjoyments  ex- 
ceed. A man  resting  from  a fit  of  the  stone  or  gout,  is,  for 
the  time,  in  possession  of  feelings  which  undisturbed  health 
cannot  impart.  They  may  be  dearly  bought,  but  still  they 
are  to  be  set  against  the  price.  And,  indeed,  it  depends 
upon  the  duration  and  urgency  of  the  pain,  whether  they  be 
dearly  bought  or  not.  I am  far  from  being  sure,  that  a man 
IS  not  a gainer  by  suffering  a moderate  interruption  of  bod- 
ily ease  for  a couple  of  hours  out  of  the  four-and-twenty. 
Two  very  common  observations  favor  this  opinion:  one  is, 
that  remissions  of  pain  call  forth,  from  those  who  experi- 
ence them,  stronger  expressions  of  satisfaction  and  of  grati- 
tude towards  both  the  author  and  the  instruments  of  their 
relief,  than  are  excited  by  advantages  of  any  other  kind: 
the  second  is,  that  the  spirits  of  sick  men  do  not  sink  in 
proportion  to  the  acuteness  of  their  sufferings;  but  rather 
appear  to  be  roused  and  supported,  not  by  pain,  but  by  the 
high  degree  of  comfort  which  they  derive  from  its  cessa- 
tion, or  even  its  subsidency,  whenever  that  occurs;  and 
which  they  taste  with  a relish  that  diffuses  some  portion  of 
mental  complacency  over  the  whole  of  that  mixed  state  of 
sensations  in  which  disease  has  placed  them. 

In  connexion  with  bodily  pain  may  be  considered  bodily 
disease,  whether  painful  or  not.  Few  diseases  are  fatal. 
I have  before  me  the  account  of  a dispensary  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood which  states  six  years*  experience  as  follows: 
“ admitted  6,420 — cured  5,476 — dead  234.**  And  this  I 
suppose  nearly  to  agree  with  what  other  similar  institutions 


274 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


exhib  t.  Now,  in  all  these  cases,  some  disorder  must  have 
been  felt,  or  the  patients  would  not  have  applied,  for  a rem 
edy;  yet  we  see  how  large  a proportion  of  the  maladies 
which  were  brought  forward,  have  either  yielded  to  propel 
treatment,  or,  what  is  more  probable,  ceased  of  their  own 
accord.  We  owe  these  frequent  recoveries,  and  where  re- 
covery d jes  not  take  place,  this  patience  of  the  human  con- 
stitutio  r under  many  of  the  distempers  by  which  it  is  visit- 
ed, to  -WO  benefactions  of  our  nature.  One  is,  that  she 
works  within  certain  limits;  allows  of  a certain  latitude 
within  which  health  may  be  preserved,  and  within  the  con- 
fines of  which  it  only  suffers  a graduated  diminution.  Dif- 
ferent quantities  of  food,  different  degrees  of  exercise,  dif- 
ferent portions  of  sleep,  different  states  of  the  atmosphere, 
are  compatible  with  the  possession  of  health.  So  likewise 
't  is  with  the  secretions  and  excretions,  with  many  internal 
fvmctions  of  the  body,  and  with  the  state,  probably,  of  most 
of  its  internal  organs.  They  may  var}'  considerably,  not 
only  without  destroying  life,  but  withoi.t  occasioning  any 
high  degree  of  inconveniency.  The  other  property  of  our 
nature,  to  which  we  are  still  more  beholden,  is  its  constant 
endeavour  to  restore  itself,  when  disordered,  to  its  regular 
course.  The  fluids  of  the  body  appear  to  possess  a power 
of  separating  and  expelling  any  noxious  substance  which 
may  have  mixed  itself  with  them.  This  they  do  in  erup- 
tive fevers,  by  a kind  of  despumation,  as  Sydenham  calls 
it,  analogous  in  some  measure  to  the  intestine  action  by 
which  fermenting  liquors  work  the  yeast  to  the  surface. 
The  solids,  on  their  part,  when  their  action  is  obstructed, 
not  only  resume  that  action,  as  soon  as  the  obstruction  is 
removed,  but  they  struggle  with  the  impediment.  They 
take  an  action  as  near  to  the  true  one,  as  the  difficulty  and 
the  disorganization,  with  which  they  have  to  contend,  will 
allow  of. 

Of  mortal  diseases,  the  great  use  is  to  reconcile  us  to 
death.  The  horror  of  death  proves  the  value  of  life.  But 
it  is  in  the  power  of  disease  to  abate,  or  even  extinguish, 
this  horror;  which  it  does  in  a wonderful  manner,  and  of- 
tentimes by  a mild  and  imperceptible  gradation.  Every 
man  who  has  been  placed  in  a situation  to  observe  it,  is 
surprised  with  the  change  which  has  been  wrought  in  him- 
self, when  he  compares  the  view  which  he  entertains  of 
death  upon  a sick-beJ,  with  the  heart-sinking  dismay  with 
which  he  sliould  some  time  ago  have  met  it  in  health. 
There  is  no  similitude  between  the  sensations  of  a man 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  IHB  DEITY 


^75 


icd  to  execution,  and  the  calm  expiring  of  a patient  at  the 
close  of  his  disease.  Death  to  him  is  only  the  last  of  a 
long  train  of  changes;  in  his  progress  through  which,  it  is 
possible  that  he  may  experience  no  shocks  or  sudden  tran- 
sitions. 

Death  itself,  as  a mode  of  removal  and  of  succession,  is 
so  connected  with  the  whole  order  of  our  animal  world,  that 
almost  everything  in  that  world  must  be  changed,  to  be 
able  to  do  without  it.  It  may  seem  likewise  impossible  If 
separate  the  fear  of  death  from  the  enjoyment  of  life,  oi 
the  perception  of  that  fear  from  rational  natures.  Brutes 
are,  in  a great  measure,  delivered  from  all  anxiety  on  this 
account  by  the  inferiority  of  their  faculties;  or  rather,  they 
seem  to  be  armed  with  the  apprehension  of  death  just  suf- 
ficiently to  put  them  upon  the  means  of  preservation,  and 
no  farther.  But  would  a human  being  wish  to  purchase 
this  immunity,  at  the  expense  of  those  mental  powers 
which  enable  him  to  look  forward  to  the  future.^ 

Death  implies  separation:  and  the  loss  of  those  whom 
we  love  must  necessarily  be  accompanied  with  pain.  To 
the  brute  creation,  nature  seems  to  have  stepped  in  with 
some  secret  provision  for  their  relief,  under  the  rupture  of 
their  attachments.  In  their  instincts  towards  their  off- 
spring, and  of  their  offspring  to  them,  I have  often  been 
surprised  to  observe  how  ardently  they  love,  and  how  soon 
they  forget.  The  pertinacity  of  human  sorrow  (upon 
which,  time  also,  at  length,  lays  its  softening  hand)  is 
probably,  therefore,  in  some  manner  connected  with  the 
qualities  of  our  rational  or  moral  nature.  One  thing  how- 
ever is  clear,  viz.  that  it  is  better  that  we  should  possess 
affections,  the  sources  of  so  many  virtues  and  so  many 
joys,  although  they  be  exposed  to  the  incidents  of  life,  as 
svell  as  the  interruptions  of  mortality,  than,  by  the  want  of 
them,  be  reduced  to  a state  of  selfishness,  apathy,  and 
quietism. 

Of  other  external  evils,  (still  confining  ourselves  to 
what  are  called  physical  or  natural  evils,)  a considerable 
part  come  within  the  scope  of  the  following  observation: 
The  great  principle  of  human  satisfaction  is  engagement 
It  is  a most  just  distinction,  which  the  late  Mr.  Tucker  has 
dwelt  upon  so  largely  in  his  works,  between  pleasures  in 
which  we  are  passive,  and  pleasures  in  which  we  are  ac- 
tive. And,  I believe,  every  attentive  observer  of  human 
life  will  assent  to  his  position,  that  however  grateful  the 
sensations  may  occasionally  be  in  which  we  are  passive,  it 


2T6 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


is  not  these,  but  the  latter  class  of  our  pleasures,  which  • 
stitute  satisfaction;  which  supply  that  regular  strean?  of 
moderate  and  miscellaneous  enjoyments,  in  which  happi- 
ness, as  distinguished  from  voluptuousness,  consists.  Now 
for  rational  occupation,  which  is,  in  other  words,  for  the 
very  material  of  contented  existence,  there  would  be  no 
place  left,  if  either  the  things  with  which  we  had  to  do 
w ere  absolutely  impracticable  to  our  endeavours,  or  if  they 
were  too  obedient  to  our  uses.  A world,  furnished  with 
advantages  on  one  side,  and  beset  with  difficulties,  wants, 
and  inconveniencies  on  the  other,  is  the  proper  abode  of 
free,  rational,  and  active  natures,  being  the  fittest  to  stim- 
ulate and  exercise  their  faculties.  The  very  refractoriness 
of  the  objects  they  have  ^.o  deal  with,  contributes  to  this 
purpose.  A world  in  which  nothing  depended  upon  our- 
selves, however  it  might  have  suited  an  imaginary  race  of 
beings,  would  not  have  suited  mankind.  Their  skill,  pru- 
dence, industry ; their  various  arts,  and  their  best  attain- 
ments, from  the  application  of  which  they  draw,  if  not  their 
highest,  their  most  permanent  gratifications,  would  be  insig- 
nificant, if  things  could  be  either  moulded  by  our  volitions, 
or,  of  their  own  accord,  conformed  themselves  to  our  views 
and  wishes.  Now  it  is  in  this  refractoriness  that  we  dis- 
cern the  seed  and  principle  of  physical  evil,  as  far  as  i 
arises  from  that  which  is  external  to  us. 

Civil  evils,  or  the  evils  of  civil  life,  are  much  more  easily 
disposed  of  than  physical  evils;  because  they  are,  in  truth, 
of  much  less  magnitude,  and  also  because  they  result,  by  a 
kind  of  necessity,  not  only  from  the  constitution  of  our  na- 
ture, but  from  a part  of  that  constitution  which  no  one 
would  wish  to  see  altered.  The  case  is  this:  Mankind 
will  in  every  country  breed  up  to  a certain  point  of  distress. 
That  point  may  be  different  in  different  countries  or  ages 
according  to  the  established  usages  of  life  in  each.  It  wdll 
also  shift  upon  the  scale,  so  as  to  admit  of  a greater  or  less 
number  of  inhabitants,  according  as  the  quantity  of  provi- 
sion, which  is  either  produced  in  the  country,  or  supplied 
to  it  from  other  countries,  may  happen  to  vary.  But  there 
must  always  be  such  a point,  and  the  species  will  always 
breed  up  to  it.  The  order  of  generation  proceeds  by  some- 
thing like  a geometrical  progression.  The  increase  of 
provision,  under  circumstances  even  the  most  advanta- 
geous, can  only  assume  the  form  of  an  arithmetic  series 
Whence  it  follows,  that  the  population  will  always  overtake 
he  provision,  will  pass  beyond  the  line  of  plenty,  and  will 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY 


277 


continue  to  increase  till  checked  by  the  difficulty  of  pro- 
curing subsistence.*  Such  difficulty  therefore,  along  with 
its  attendant  circumstances,  must  be  found  in  every  old 
country:  and  these  circumstances  constitute  what  we  call 
poverty,  which  necessarily  imposes  labor,  servitude,  re- 
straint. 

It  seems  impossible  to  people  a country  with  inhabitants 
who  shall  be  all  in  easj  circumstances.  For  suppose  the 
thing  to  be  done,  there  would  be  such  marrying  and  giving 
in  marriage  amongst  them,  as  would  in  a few  years  change 
the  face  of  affairs  entirely;  i,  e.  as  would  increase  the  con- 
sumption of  those  articles,  which  supplied  the  natural  or 
habitual  wants  of  the  country,  to  such  a degree  of  scarcity, 
as  must  leave  the  greatest  part  of  the  inhabitants  unable  to 
procure  them  without  toilsome  endeavours,  or,  out  of  the 
different  kinds  of  these  articles,  to  procure  any  kind  except 
that  which  was  most  easily  produced.  And  this,  in  fact, 
describes  the  condition  of  the  mass  of  the  community  in 
all  countries;  a condition  unavoidably,  as  it  should  seem, 
resulting  from  the  provision  which  is  made  in  the  human, 
in  common  with  all  animal  constitutions,  for  the  perpetuity 
and  multiplication  of  the  species. 

It  need  not  however  dishearten  any  endeavours  for  the 
public  service,  to  know  that  population  naturally  treads  up- 
on the  heels  of  improvement.  If  the  condition  of  a people 
be  meliorated,  the  consequence  will  be,  either  that  the  mean 
happiness  will  be  increased,  or  a greater  number  partake  of 
it;  or,  which  is  most  likely  to  happen,  that  both  effects  will 
take  place  together.  There  may  be  limits  fixed  by  nature 
to  both,  but  they  are  limits,  not  yet  attained,  nor  even  ap- 
proached, in  any  country  of  the  world. 

And  when  we  speak  of  limits  at  all,  we  have  respect  on- 
ly to  provisions  for  animal  wants.  There  are  sources,  and 
means,  and  auxiliaries,  and  augmentations  of  human  hap- 
piness, communicable  without  restriction  of  numbers;  as 
capable  of  being  possessed  by  a thousand  persons  as  by 
one.  Such  are  those  which  flow  from  a mild,  contrasted 
with  a tyrannic  government,  whether  civil  or  domestic; 
those  which  spring  from  religion;  those  which  grow  out 
of  a sense  of  security;  those  which  depend  upon  habits  of 
virtue,  sobr::5ty,  moderation,  order;  those,  lastly,  which 
are  found  iri  the  possession  of  well-directed  tastes  and  de- 
sires, con  pared  with  the  dominion  of  tormenting,  |^rni 
clous,  CO  tradictory,  unsatisfied,  and  unsatisfiable  passions. 

* See  statement  of  this  subject,  in  a late  treatise  upon  population. 

Z 


278 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


The  distinctions  of  civil  life  are  ap  enough  to  be  re- 
garded as  evils,  by  those  who  sit  under  them:  but,  in  my 
opinion,  with  very  little  reason. 

In  the  first  place,  the  advantages  which  the  higher  con- 
ditions of  life  are  supposed  to  confer,  bear  no  proportion  in 
value  to  the  advantages  which  are  bestowed  by  nature. 
The  gifts  of  nature  always  surpass  the  gifts  of  fortune. 
How  much,  for  example,  is  activity  better  than  attendance- 
beauty  than  dress;  appetite,  digestion,  and  tranquil  bowe.s, 
than  all  the  studies  of  cookery,  or  than  the  most  costly 
compilation  of  forced  or  far-fetched  dainties.^ 

Nature  has  a strong  tendency  to  equalisation.  Habit, 
the  instrument  of  nature,  is  a great  leveller;  the  familiari- 
ty which  it  induces,  taking  off  the  edge  both  of  our  plea- 
sures and  our  sufferings.  Indulgences  which  are  habitual 
keep  us  in  ease,  and  cannot  be  carried  much  farther.  So 
that,  with  respect  to  the  gratifications  of  which  the  senses 
are  capable,  the  difference  is  by  no  means  proportionable 
to  the  apparatus.  Nay,  so  far  as  superfluity  generates 
fastidiousness,  the  difference  is  on  the  wrong  side. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  contend,  that  the  advantages  de- 
rived from  wealth  are  none,  (under  due  regulations  they 
are  certainly  considerable,)  but  that  they  are  not  greater 
than  they  ought  to  be.  Money  is  the  sweetener  of  human 
toil,  the  substitute  for  coercion,  the  reconciler  of  labor 
with  liberty.  It  is,  moreover,  the  stimulant  of  enterprise 
in  all  projects  and  undertakings,  as  well  as  of  diligence  in 
the  most  beneficial  arts  and  employments.  Now  did  afflu- 
ence, when  possessed,  contribute  nothing  to  happiness,  or 
nothing  beyond  the  mere  supply  of  necessaries;  and  the 
secret  should  come  to  be  discovered;  we  might  be  in  dan- 
ger of  losing  great  part  of  the  uses  which  are  at  present 
derived  to  us  through  this  important  medium.  Not  only 
would  the  tranquillity  of  social  life  be  put  in  peril  by  the 
want  of  a motive  to  attach  men  to  their  private  concerns; 
but  the  satisfaction  which  all  men  receive  from  success  in 
their  respective  occupations,  which  collectively  constitutes 
the  great  mass  of  human  comfort,  would  be  done  away  in 
its  very  principle. 

With  respect  to  station,  as  it  is  distinguished  from  rich- 
es, whether  it  confer  authority  over  others,  or  be  invested 
with  honors  which  apply  solely  to  sentiment  and  imagina- 
tion, the  truth  is,  that  what  is  gained  bv  rising  through  the 
ranks  of  life,  is  not  more  than  sufficient  to  draw  forth  the 
exertions  of  those  who  are  engaged  in  the  pursuits  which 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


279 


lead  to  advancement,  and  which  in  general  are  such  as 
ought  to  be  encouraged.  Distinctions  of  this  sort  are  sub- 
jects much  more  of  competition  than  of  enjoyment:  and  in 
that  competition  their  use  consists.  It  is  not,  as  hath  been 
rightly  observed,  by  what  the  Lo7'd  Mayor  feels  in  his 
coach,  but  by  what  the  apprentice  feels  who  gazes  at  him, 
that  tlie  public  is  served. 

As  we  approach  the  summits  of  human  greatness,  the 
comparison  of  good  and  evil,  with  respect  to  personal  com- 
fort, becomes  still  more  problematical ; even  allowing  to  am- 
bition all  its  pleasures.  The  poet  asks,  “What  is  grandeur, 
what  is  power?’’  The  philosopher  answers,  “ Constraint 
and  plague:  et  in  maxima  quaque  fortuna  minimum 
licere.”  One  very  common  error  misleads  the  opinion  of 
mankind  upon  this  head,  viz.  that  universally,  authority  is 
pleasant,  submission  painful.  In  the  general  course  of  hu- 
man affairs,  the  very  reverse  of  this  is  nearer  to  the  truth. 
Command  is  anxiety,  obedience  ease. 

Artificial  distinctions  sometimes  promote  real  equality. 
Whetherthey  be  hereditary,  or  be  the  homage  paid  tooffice, 
or  the  respect  attached  by  public  opinion  to  particular  pro- 
fessions, they  serve  to  confront  that  grand  and  unavoidable 
distinction  which  arises  from  property,  and  which  is  most 
overbearing  where  there  is  no  other.  It  is  of  the  nature  of 
property,  not  only  to  be  irregularly  distributed,  but  to  run 
into  large  masses.  Public  laws  should  be  so  constructed  as 
to  favor  its  diffusion  as  mq|ph  as  they  can.  But  all  that 
can  be  done  by  laws  consistently  with  that  degree  of  gov- 
ernment of  his  property  which  ought  to  be  left  to  the  sub- 
ject, will  not  be  sufficient  to  counteract  this  tendency. 
There  must  always  therefore  be  the  difference  between 
rich  and  poor;  and  this  difference  will  be  the  more  grind- 
ing, when  no  pretension  is  allowed  to  be  set  up  against  it. 

So  that  the  evils,  if  evils  they  must  be  called,  which 
spring  either  from  the  necessary  subordinations  of  civil 
life,  or  from  the  distinctions  which  have,  naturally,  though 
not  necessarily,  grown  up  in  most  societies,  so  long  as  they 
are  unaccompanied  by  privileges  injurious  or  oppressive  to 
the  rest  of  the  community,  are  such  as  may,  even  by  the 
most  depressed  ranks,  be  endured  with  very  little  prejudice 
to  their  comfort. 

The  mischiefs,  of  which  mankind  are  the  occasion  to  one 
another,  by  their  private  wickednesses  and  cruelties;  by 
tyrannical  exercises  of  power;  by  rebellions  against  just 
authority;  by  wars,  by  national  jealousies  and  competi- 


280 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


tions  operating  to  the  destruction  of  their  countries,  or  by 
other  instances  of  misconduct  either  in  individuals  or  soci 
eties,  are  all  to  be  resolved  into  the  cjiaracter  of  man  as  & 
free  agent.  Free  agency  in  its  very  essence  contains  lia- 
bility to  abuse.  Yet,  if  you  deprive  man  of  his  free  agency, 
you  subvert  his  nature.  You  may  have  order  from  him  and 
regularity,  as  you  may  from  the  tides  or  the  trade-winds, 
but  you  put  an  end  to  his  moral  character,  to  virtue,  to  merit, 
to  a ’countableness,  to  the  use  indeed  of  reason.  To  which 
must  be  added  the  observation,  that  even  the  bad  qualities 
of  mankind  have  an  origin  in  their  good  ones.  The  case 
is  this:  human  passions  are  either  necessary  to  human  wel- 
fare, or  capable  of  being  made,  and,  in  a great  majority  of 
instances,  in  fact  made,  conducive  to  its  happiness.  These 
passions  are  strong  and  general;  and  perhaps  would  not  an- 
swer their  purpose  unless  they  w^ere  so.  But  strength  and 
generality,  when  it  is  expedient  that  particular  circum- 
stances should  be  respected,  become,  if  left  to  themselves, 
excess  and  misdirection.  From  which  excess  and  misdi- 
rection, the  vices  of  mankind  (the  causes  no  doubt  of 
much  misery)  appear  to  spring.  This  account,  whilst  it 
shows  us  the  principle  of  vice,  shows  us,  at  the  same  time, 
the  province  of  reason  and  of  self-government;  the  want  also 
of  every  support  which  can  be  procured  to  either  from  the 
aids  of  religion;  and  it  shows  this,  without  having  recourse 
to  any  native  gratuitous  malignity  in  the  human  constitu- 
tion. Mr.  Hume,  in  his  posthumous  dialogues,  asserts 
indeed  of  idleness^  or  aversion  to  labor  (which  he  states  to 
lie  at  the  root  of  a considerable  part  of  the  evils  which 
mankind  suffer,)  that  it  is  simply  and  merely  bad.  But 
how  does  he  distinguish  idleness  from  the  love  of  ease.^  or 
is  he  sure,  that  the  love  of  ease  in  individuals  is  not  the 
chief  foundation  of  social  tranquillity.^  It  will  be  found,  I 
believe,  to  be  true,  that  in  every  community  there  is  a 
large  class  of  its  members,  whose  idleness  is  the  best  qual- 
ity about  them,  being  the  corrective  of  other  bad  ones. 
If  it  were  possible,  in  every  instance,  to  give  a right  de- 
termination to  industry,  we  could  never  have  too  much  of 
it.  But  this  is  not  possible,  if  men  are  to  be  free.  And 
without  this,  nothing  would  be  so  dangerous  as  an  inces- 
sant, universal,  indefatigable  activity.  In  the  civil  world, 
as  well  as  in  the  material,  it  is  the  vis  inertice  which  keeps 
:hings  ii  .heir  places. 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


281 


Naturai  Theology  has  ever  been  pressed  with  this 
question:  ^V^hy,  under  the  regency  of  a supreme  and  be- 
nevolent Will,  should  there  be,  in  the  world,  so  much  as 
there  is  of  the  appearance  of  chancel 

The  question  in  its  whole  compass  lies  beyond  our 
reach:  but  there  are  not  wanting,  as  in  the  origin  of  evil, 
answers  which  seem  to  have  considerable  weight  in  partic- 
ular cases,  and  also  to  embrace  a considerable  number  of 
cases. 

I.  There  must  be  chance  in  the  midst  of  design:  b_y 
which  we  mean,  that  events  which  are  not  designed,  neces- 
sarily arise  from  the  pursuit  of  events  which  are  designed. 
One  man  travelling  to  York,  meets  another  man  travelling 
CO  London.  Their  meeting  is  by  chance,  is  accidental, 
and  so  would  be  called  and  reckoned,  though  the  journeys 
which  produced  the  meeting  were,  both  of  them,  under- 
taken with  design  and  from  deliberation.  The  meeting, 
though  accidental,  was  nevertheless  hypothetically  necessa- 
ry, (which  is  the  only  sort  of  necessity  that  is  intelligible:) 
for,  if  the  two  journeys  were  commenced  at  the  time,  pur- 
sued in  the  direction,  and  with  the  speed,  in  which  and 
with  which  they  were  in  fact  begun  and  performed,  the 
meeting  could  not  be  avoided.  There  was  not,  therefore, 
the  less  necessity  in  it  for  its  being  by  chance.  Again, 
the  rencounter  might  be  most  unfortunate,  though  the  er- 
rands, upon  which  each  party  set  out  upon  his  journey, 
were  the  most  innocent  or  the  most  laudable.  The  by 
effect  may  be  unfavorable,  without  impeachment  of  the 
proper  purpose,  for  the  sake  of  which  the  train,  from  the 
operation  of  which  these  consequences  ensued,  was  put  in 
motion.  Although  no  cause  acts  without  a good  purpose, 
accidental  consequences,  like  these,  may  be  either  good  or 
bad. 

II.  The  appearance  of  chance  will  always  bear  a pro- 
portion to  the  igi)  orance  of  the  observer.  The  cast  of  a 
die  as  regularly  follows  the  laws  of  motion,  as  the  going  of 
a watch;  yet,  because  we  can  trace  the  operation  of  those 
laws  through  the  works  and  movements  of  the  watch,  and 
cannot  trace  them  in  the  shaking  and  throwing  of  the  die, 
(though  the  laws  be  the  same,  and  prevail  equally  in  both 
cases,)  we  call  the  turning  up  of  the  number  of  the  die 
chance,  the  pointing  of  the  index  of  the  watch  machinery, 
order,  or  by  some  name  which  excludes  chance.  It  is  the 
same  in  those  events  which  depend  upon  the  will  of  a free 
a id  rational  agent.  The  verdicit  of  a jury,  the  sentence  ol 

Z* 


282 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


a judje,  the  resolution  of  an  assembly,  the  issue  of  a con 
tested  election,  will  have  more  or  less  of  the  appearance 
of  chance,  might  be  more  or  less  the  subject  of  a wager, 
according  as  we  were  less  or  more  acquainted  with  the 
reasons  which  influenced  the  deliberation.  The  differ- 
ence resides  in  the  information  of  the  observer,  and  not 
in  the  thing  itself;  which,  in  all  the  cases  proposed, 
proceeds  from  intelligence,  from  mind,  from  counsel,  from 
design. 

Now  when  this  one  cause  of  the  appearance  of  chance, 
viz.  the  ignorance  of  the  observer,  conies  to  be  applied  to 
the  operations  of  the  Deity,  it  is  easy  to  foresee  how  fruit- 
fil  it  must  prove  of  difficulties,  and  of  seeming  confusion. 
It  is  only  to  think  of  the  Deity,  to  perceive,  what  variety 
of  objects,  what  distance  of  time,  what  extent  of  space 
and  action,  his  counsels  may,  or  rather  must,  comprehend. 
Can  it  be  wondered  at,  that,  of  the  purposes  which  dwell  in 
such  a mind  as  this,  so  small  a part  should  be  k’Mown  to 
us.?  It  is  only  necessary,  therefore,  to  bear  in  our  thought, 
that  in  proportion  to  the  inadequateness  of  our  information, 
will  be  the  quantity,  in  the  world,  of  apparent  chance. 

III.  In  a great  variety  of  cases,  and  of  cases  compre- 
hending numerous  subdivisions,  it  appears,  for  many  rea- 
sons, to  be  better  that  events  rise  up  by  chance,  or,  more 
properly  speaking,  with  the  appearance  of  chance,  than  ac- 
cording to  any  observable  rule  whatever.  This  is  not  sel- 
dom the  case  even  in  human  arrangements.  Each  person’s 
place  and  precendency  in  a public  meeting,  may  be  deter- 
mined by  lot.  Work  and  labor  may  be  allotted.  Tasks 
and  burdens  may  be  allotted: — 

Operumque  laborem 

Partibiis  scquabat  justis,  aut  sorte  trahebat. 

Military  service  and  station  may  be  allotted.  The  dis- 
tribution of  provision  may  be  made  by  lot,  as  it  is  in  a sail- 
or’s mess;  n some  cases  also,  the  distribution  of  favors 
may  be  made  by  lot.  In  all  these  cases,  it  seems  to  be  ac- 
knowledged, that  there  are  advantages  in  permitting  events 
to  chance,  superior  to  those  which  would  or  could  arise 
from  regulation.  In  all  these  cases,  also,  though  events 
rise  up  in  the  way  of  chance,  it  is  by  appointment  that  they 
do  so. 

In  other  events,  and  such*as  are  independent  of  human 
will,  the  reasons  for  this  preference  of  uncertainty  to  rule, 
appear  to  be  still  stronger.  For  example,  it  seems  to  bo 
expedient  thal  the  period  of  human  life  should  be  uncertain 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


ns 


Did  mortality  follow  any  fixed  rule,  it  would  produce  a se- 
curity in  those  that  were  at  a distance  from  it,  which  would 
lead  to  tlie  greatest  disorders;  and  a horror  in  those  who 
approached  it,  similar  to  that  which  a condemned  prisorier 
feelj  on  the  night  before  his  execution.  But,  that  death  be 
uncertain,  the  young  must  sometimes  die,  as  well  as  the 
old.  Als),  were  deaths  never  sudden,  they  who  are  in 
health  wou.d  he  too  confident  of  life.  The  strong  and  the 
active,  who  want  most  to  be  warned  and  checked,  would 
live  without  appr^^hension  or  restraint.  On  the  other  hand, 
were  sudden  deaths  very  frequent,  the  sense  of  constant 
jeopardy  would  interfere  too  much  with  the  degree  of  ease 
and  enjoyment  intended  for  us;  and  human  life  be  too  pre- 
carious for  the  business  and  interests  which  belong  to  it. 
There  could  not  be  dependence  either  upon  our  own  lives, 
or  the  lives  of  those  with  whom  we  are  connected,  suffi- 
cient to  carry  on  the  regular  offices  of  human  society. 
The  manner,  therefore,  in  which  death  is  made  to  occur, 
conduces  to  the  purposes  of  admonition,  without  overthrow- 
ing the  necessary  stability  of  human  affairs. 

Disease  being  the  forerunner  of  death,  there  is  the  same 
reason  for  its  attacks  coming  upon  us  under  the  appear- 
ance of  chance,  as  there  is  for  uncertainty  in  the  time  ot 
death  itself. 

The  seasons  are  a mixture  of  regularity  and  chance. 
They  are  regular  enough  to  authorise  expectation,  whilst 
their  being  in  a considerable  degree  irregular,  induces,  on 
the  part  of  the  cultivators  of  the  soil,  a necessity  for  per- 
sonal attendance,  for  activity,  vigilance,  precaution.  It  is 
this  necessity  which  creates  farmers;  which  divides  the 
profit  of  the  soil  between  the  owner  and  the  occupier ; which, 
by  requiring  expedients,  by  increasing  employment,  and 
by  rewarding  expenditure,  promotes  agricultural  arts  and 
agricultural  life,  of  all  modes  of  life  the  best,  being  tne 
most  conducive  to  health,  to  virtue,  to  enjoyment.  I 
believe  it  to  be  found  in  fact,  that  where  the  soil  is  the 
most  fruitful,  and  the  seasons  the  most  constant,  there  the 
condition  of  the  cultivators  of  the  earth  is  the  most  de- 
pressed. Uncertainty,  therefore,  has  its  use,  even  to  those 
who  sometimes  complain  of  it  the  most.  Seasons  of  scar- 
city themselves  are  not  without  their  advantages.  They 
call  forth  new  exertions;  they  set  contrivance  and  ingenui- 
ty at  work ; they  give  h rth  to  improvements  in  agriculture 
and  economy;  they  promote  the  investigation  and  manage- 
ment of  public  resources. 


284 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


Again;  there  are  strong  intelligible  reasons,  why  there 
should  exist  in  human  society  great  disparity  of  xoealth 
and  station;  not  only  as  these  things  are  acquired  in  dif- 
ferent degrees,  but  at  the  first  setting  out  of  life.  In  order, 
for  instance,  to  answer  the  various  demands  of  civil  life, 
Ihere  ought  to  be  amongst  the  members  of  every  civil  soci- 
ety a diversity  of  education,  which  can  only  belong  to  an 
original  diversity  of  circumstances.  As  this  sort  of  dispar- 
ity, which  ought  to  take  place  from  the  beginning  of  life, 
must,  ex  hjpMesi,  be  previous  to  the  merit  or  demerit  of 
the  persons  upon  whom  it  falls,  can  it  be  better  disposed  of 
than  by  chance?  Parentage  is  that  sort  of  chance:  yet  it 
is  the  commanding  circumstance  which  in  general  fixes 
each  man’s  place  in  civil  life,  along  with  everything  which 
appertains  to  its  distinctions.  It  may  be  the  result  of  a 
beneficial  rule  that  the  fortunes  or  honors  of  the  father  de- 
volve upon  the  son;  and,  as  it  should  seem,  of  a still  more 
necessary  rule,  that  the  low  or  laborious  condition  of  the 
parent  be  communicated  to  his  family ; but  with  respect  to 
the  successor  himself,  it  is  the  drawing  of  a ticket  in  a lot- 
tery. Inequalities  therefore  of  fortune,  at  least  the  great- 
est part  of  them,  viz.  those  which  attend  us  from  our  birth, 
and  depend  upon  our  birth,  may  be  lefl,  as  they  are  left,  to 
chance,  without  any  just  cause  for  questioning  the  regency 
of  a supreme  Disposer  of  events. 

But  not  only  the  donation,  when  by  the  necessity  of  the 
case  they  must  be  gifts,  but  even  the  acquirability  of  civil 
advantages,  ought  perhaps,  in  a considerable  degree,  to  lie 
at  the  mercy  of  chance.  Some  would  have  all  the  virtuous 
rich,  or  at  least  removed  from  the  evils  of  poverty,  with- 
out perceiving,  I suppose,  the  consequence,  that  all  the 
poor  must  be  wicked.  And  how  such  a society  could  be 
kept  in  subjection  to  government,  has  not  been  shown; 
for  the  poor,  that  is,  they  who  seek  their  subsistence  by 
constant  manual  labor,  must  still  form  the  mass  of  the  com- 
munity; otherwise  the  necessary  labor  of  life  could  not  be 
carried  on;  the  work  would  not  be  done,  which  the  wants 
of  mankind,  in  a state  of  civilisation,  and  still  more  in  a 
state  of  refinement,  require  to  be  done. 

It  appears  to  be  also  true,  that  the  exigencies  of  social 
life  call  not  only  for  an  original  diversity  of  external  circum- 
stances, but  for  a mixture  of  different  faculties,  tastes,  and 
tempers.  Activity  and  contemplation,  restlessness  and  qui- 
et, CO  :rage  and  timidity,  ambition  and  contentedness,  not 

say  even  indolence  and  dulness,  are  all  wanted  in  the 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


285 


world,  all  conduce  to  the  well  going  on  of  human  affairs, 
just  as  the  rudder,  the  sails,  and  the  ballast  of  a ship,  all 
perform  their  part  in  the  navigation.  Now,  since  these 
characters  require  for  their  foundation  different  original 
talents,  different  dispositions,  perhaps  also  different  bodily 
constitutions;  and  since,  likewise,  it  is  apparently  expe- 
dient, that  they  be  promiscuously  scattered  amongst  the 
different  classes  of  society;  can  the  distribution  of  talents, 
dispositions,  and  the  constitutions  upon  which  they  depend 
be  better  made  than  by  c/iance? 

The  opposites  of  apparent  chance  are,  constancy  and 
sensible  interposition;  every  degree  of  secret  direction  be- 
ing consistent  with  it.  Now,  of  constancy,  or  of  fixed  and 
known  rules,  we  have  seen  in  some  cases  the  inapplicabili- 
ty; and  inconveniences  which  we  do  not  see,  might  attend 
their  application  in  other  cases. 

Of  sensible  interposition  we  may  be  permitted  to  remark, 
that  a Providence,  always  and  certainly  distinguishable, 
would  be  neither  more  nor  less  than  miracles  rendered  fre- 
quent and  common.  It  is  difficult  to  judge  of  the  state 
into  which  this  would  throw  us.  It  is  enough  to  say,  that 
it  would  cast  us  upon  a quite  different  dispensation  from 
that  under  which  we  live.  It  would  be  a total  and  radical 
change.  And  the  change  would  deeply  affect,  or  per- 
haps subvert,  the  whole  conduct  of  human  affairs.  I can 
readily  believe,  that,  other  circumstances  being  adapted  to 
it,  such  a state  might  be  better  than  our  present  state. 
It  may  be  the  state  of  other  beings;  it  may  be  ours  hereaf- 
ter. But  the  question  with  which  we  are  now  concerned 
is,  how  far  it  would  be  consistent  wfith  our  condition,  sup- 
posing it  in  other  respects  to  remain  as  it  is?  And  in  this 
question  there  seems  to  be  reasons  of  great  moment  on  the 
negative  side.  For  instance;  so  long  as  bodily  labo. 
continues,  on  so  many  accounts,  to  be  necessary  for  the 
bulk  of  mankind,  any  dependency  upon  supernatural  aid, 
by  unfixing  those  motives  which  promote  exertion,  or  by 
relaxing  those  habits  which  engender  patient  industry, 
might  introduce  negligence,  inactivity,  and  disorder,  into 
the  most  useful  occupations  of  human  life;  and  thereby 
deteriorate  the  condition  of  human  life  itself. 

As  moral  agents,  we  should  experience  a still  greatei 
alteration;  of  which  more  will  be  said  under  the  next 
article. 

Although  therefore  the  Deity,  who  possesses  the  power 
of  winding  and  turning,  as  he  pleases,  the  course  of  causes 


2^6 


THE  GOODNESS  OP  THE  DEITY. 


i\'hich  issue  from  himself,  do  in  fact  interpose  to  alter  oi 
intercept  effects,  which  without  such  interposition  would 
have  taken  place;  yet  it  is  by  no  means  incredible,  that  his 
Providence,  which  always  rests  upon  final  good,  may  have 
made  a reserve  with  respect  to  the  manifestation  of  his  in- 
terference, a part  of  the  very  plan  which  he  has  appointed 
for  our  terrestrial  existence,  and  a part  conformable  with, 
or  in  some  sort  required  by,  other  parts  of  the  same  plan. 
It  is  at  any  rate  evident,  that  a large  and  ample  province 
remains  for  the  exercise  of  Providence,  without  its  being 
naturally  perceptible  by  us;  because  obscurity,  when  appli- 
ed to  the  interruption  of  laws,  bears  a necessary  proportion 
to  the  imperfection  of  our  knowledge  when  applied  to  the 
laws  themselves,  or  rather  to  the  effects  which  these  laws, 
under  their  various  and  incalculable  combinations,  would 
of  their  own  accord  produce.  And  if  it  be  said,  that  the 
doctrine  of  Divine  Providence,  by  reason  of  the  ambigu- 
ity under  which  its  exertions  present  themselves,  can  be 
attended  with  no  practical  influence  upon  our  conduct; 
that,  although  we  believe  ever  so  firmly  that  there  is  a Prov- 
idence, we  must  prepare,  and  provide,  and  act,  as  if  there 
were  none;  I answer  that  this  is  admitted;  and  that  w^e 
farther  allege,  that  so  to  prepare,  and  so  to  provide,  is  con- 
sistent with  the  most  perfect  assurance  of  the  reality  of  a 
Providence:  and  not  only  so,  but  that  it  is  probably,  one 
advantage  of  the  present  state  of  our  information,  that  our 
provisions  and  preparations  are  not  disturbed  by  it.  Or  if 
it  be  still  asked,  of  what  use  at  all  then  is  the  doctrine,  if 
it  neither  alter  our  measures  nor  regulate  our  conduct.^  I 
answer  again,  that  it  is  of  the  greatest  use,  but  that  it  is  a 
doctrine  of  sentiment  and  piety,  not  (immediately  at  least) 
of  action  or  conduct;  that  it  applies  to  the  consolation  of 
men’s  minds,  to  their  devotions,  to  the  excitement  of  grat- 
itude, the  support  of  patience,  the  keeping  alive  and  the 
strengthening  of  every  motive  for  endeavouring  to  please 
c(ir  Maker;  and  that  these  are  great  uses. 

Of  all  views  under  which  human  life  has  ever  been  con- 
sidered, the  most  reasonable,  in  my  judgment,  is  that  which 
regards  it  as  a state  of  probation.  If  the  course  of  the 
world  were  separated  from  the  contrivances  of  nature,  I do 
not  know  that  it  w^ould  be  necessary  to  look  for  any  other 
account  of  it  than  what,  if  it  may  be  called  an  account,  is 
contained  in  the  answer,  that  events  rise  up  by  chance. 
But  since  the  contrivances  of  nature  decidedly  evince  m/en- 
hon;  and  since  the  course  of  the  world  and  the  contrivan- 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


287 


ces  of  nature  have  the  same  author;  we  are,  by  the  force 
of  this  connexion,  led  to  believe,  that  the  appearance  un^- 
der  which  events  take  place,  is  reconcilable  with  the  sup- 
position of  design  on  the  part  of  the  Deity.  It  is  enough 
that  they  be  reconcilable  with  this  supposition , and  it  is  un- 
doubtedly true,  that  they  may  be  reconcilable,  though  we 
cannot  reconcile  them.  The  mind,  however,  which  contem- 
plates the  works  of  nature,  and  in  those  works  sees  so  much 
of  means  directed  to  ends,  of  beneficial  effects  brought  about 
by  wise  expedients,  of  concerted  trains  of  causes  terminat- 
ing in  the  happiest  results;  so  much,  in  a word,  of  counsel, 
intention,  and  benevolence;  a mind,  I say,  drawn  into  the 
habit  of  thought  which  these  observations  excite,  can  hardly 
turn  its  view  to  the  condition  of  our  own  species,  without 
endeavouring  to  suggest  to  itself  some  purpose,  some  de- 
sign, for  which  the  state  in  which  we  are  placed  is  fitted, 
and  which  it  is  made  to  serve.  Now  we  assert  the  most 
probable  supposition  to  be,  that  it  is  a state  of  moral 
probation;  and  that  many  things  in  it  suit  with  this  hy- 
pothesis, which  suit  no  other.  It  is  not  a state  of  unmixed 
happiness,  or  of  happiness  simply:  it  is  not  a state  of  de- 
signed misery,  or  of  misery  simply:  it  is  not  a state  of  re- 
tribution: it  is  not  a state  of  punishment.  It  suits  with  none 
of  these  suppositions.  It  accords  much  better  with  the  idea 
of  its  being  a condition  calculated  for  the  production,  exer- 
cise, and  improvement  of  moral  qualities,  with  a view  to  a 
future  state,  in  which  these  qualities,  after  being  so  pro- 
duced, exercised,  and  improved,  may,  by  a new  and  more 
favoring  constitution  of  things,  receive  their  reward,  or  be- 
come their  own.  If  it  be  said,  that  this  is  to  enter  upon  a 
religious  rather  than  a philosophical  consideration,  I an- 
swer, that  the  name  of  religion  ought  to  form  no  objec- 
tion, if  it  shall  turn  out  to  be  the  case,  that  the  more  reli- 
gious our  views  are,  the  more  probability  they  contain 
The  degree  of  beneficence,  of  benevolent  intention,  and  of 
power,  exercised  in  the  construction  of  sensitive  beings, 
goes  strongly  in  favor,  not  only  of  a creative,  but  of  a con- 
tinuing care,  that  is,  of  a ruling  Providence.  The  degree 
of  chance  which  appears  to  prevail  in  the  world,  requires  to 
be  reconciled  with  this  hypothesis.  Now  it  is  one  thing  to 
maintain  the  doctrine  of  Providence  along  with  that  of  a fu- 
ture state,  and  another  thing  without  it.  In  my  opinion, 
the  two  doctrines  must  stand  or  fall  together.  For  although 
more  of  this  apparent  chance  may  perhaps  upon  other  prin- 
ciples, be  accounted  for,  than  is  generally  supposed,  yet 


288 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY 


a future  state  alone  rectifies  all  disorders:  and  if  it  can  be 
shown,  that  the  appearance  of  disorder  is  consistent  with 
he  uses  of  life  as  a preparatorij  state,  or  that  in  some  re- 
spects it  promotes  these  uses,  then,  so  far  as  this  hypo- 
thesis may  be  accepted,  the  ground  of  the  difficulty  is  done 
away. 

In  the  wide  scale  of  human  condition,  there  is  not  per- 
japs  one  of  its  manifold  diversities  which  does  not  bear 
upon  the  design  here  suggested.  Virtue  is  infinitely  vari- 
ous There  is  no  situation  in  which  a rational  being  is 
placed,  from  that  of  the  best  instructed  Christian  down  to 
the  condition  of  the  rudest  barbarian,  which  affords  not 
room  for  moral  agency ; for  the  acquisition,  exercise,  and 
display  of  voluntary  qualities,  good  and  bad.  Health  and 
sickness,  enjoyment  and  suffering,  riches  and  poverty, 
knowledge  and  ignorance,  power  and  subjection,  liberty 
and  bondage,  civilisation  and  barbarity,  have  all  their  offi- 
ces and  duties,  all  serve  for  the  formation  of  character:  for 
when  we  speak  of  a state  of  trial,  it  must  be  remembered, 
that  characters  are  not  only  tried,  or  proved,  or  detected 
but  that  they  are  generated  also,  and  formed  by  circumstan 
ces.  The  best  dispositions  may  subsist  under  the  most  de- 
pressed, the  most  afflicted  fortunes.  A West  Indian  slave, 
who,  amidst  his  wrongs,  retains  his  benevolence,  I,  for  my 
part,  look  upon,  as  amongst  the  foremost  of  human  candi- 
dates for  the  rewards  of  virtue.  The  kind  master  of  such 
a slave,  that  is,  he  who,  in  the  exercise  of  an  inordinate 
authority,  postpones  in  any  degree  his  own  interest  to  his 
slaves’  comfort,  is  likewise  a meritorious  character:  but 
still  he  is  inferior  to  his  slave.  All  however  which  I con- 
tend for  is,  that  these  destinies,  opposite  as  they  may  be 
in  every  other  view,  are  both  trials;  and  equally  such. 
The  observation  may  be  applied  to  every  other  condition; 
to  the  whole  range  of  the  scale,  not  excepting  even  its 
lowest  extremity.  Savages  appear  to  us  all  alike;  but  it 
is  owing  to  the  distance  at  which  we  view  savage  life,  that 
we  perceive  in  it  no  discrimination  of  character.  I make 
no  doubt,  but  that  moral  qualities,  both  good  and  bad,  are 
called  into  action  as  much,  and  that  they  subsist  in  as 
great  a variety  in  these  inartificial  societies  as  they  are,  or 
do,  in  polished  life.  Certain  at  least  it  is,  that  the  good 
or  ill  treatment  which  each  individual  meets  with,  depends 
more  upon  the  choice  and  voluntary  conduct  of  those  about 
him,  than  it  does,  or  ought  to  do,  under  regular  civil  insti- 
tutions, and  the  coercion  of  public  laws.  So  again,  to  turn 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DE  jTY. 


289 


our  eyes  to  the  other  end  of  the  scale,  namely,  that  part 
of  it  which  is  occupied  by  mankind  enjoying  the  benefits 
of  learning,  together  with  the  lights  of  revelation,  there 
also,  the  advantage  is  all  along  probalionary.  Christianity 
itself,  I mean  the  revelation  of  Christianity,  is  not  only 
a blessing,  but  a trial.  It  is  one  of  the  diversified  means 
by  which  the  character  is  exercised:  and  they  who  require 
of  Christianity,  that  the  revelation  of  it  should  be  univer- 
sal, may  possibly  be  found  to  require,  that  one  species  of 
probation  should  be  adopted,  if  not  to  the  exclusion  of 
others,  at  least  to  the  narrowing  of  that  variety  which  the 
wisdom  of  the  Deity  hath  appointed  to  this  part  of  his 
moral  economy.* 

Nevv  if  this  supposition  be  well  founded;  that  is,  if  it  be 
true  that  our  ultimate,  or  most  permanent  happiness  will 
depend,  not  upon  the  temporary  condition  into  which  we 
are  cast,  but  upon  our  behavior  in  it;  then  is  it  a much 
more  fit  subject  of  chance  than  we  usually  allow  or  appre- 
hend it  to  be,  in  what  manner  the  variety  of  external  cir- 
cumstances which  subsist  in  the  human  world,  is  distributed 
amongst  the  individuals  of  the  species.  “This  life  beings 
a state  of  probation,  it  is  immaterial,’*  says  Rousseau, ' 
“what  kind  of  trials  we  experience  in  it,  provided  they 
produce  their  effects.”  Of  two  agents  who  stand  indiffer- 
ent to  the  moral  Governor  of  the  universe,  one  may  be  ex- 
ercised by  riches,  the  other  by  poverty.  The  treatment 
of  these  two  shall  appear  to  be  very  opposite,  whilst  in 
truth  it  is  the  same:  for  though,  in  many  respects,  there 
be  great  disparity  between  the  conditions  assigned,  in  one 
main  article  there  may  be  none,  viz.  in  that  they  are  alike 
trials;  have  both  their  duties  and  temptations,  not  less  ar- 
duous or  less  dangerous  in  one  case  than  the  other;  so  that 
if  the  final  award  follow  the  character,  the  original  distribu- 
tion of  the  circumstances  under  which  that  character  is 
formed,  may  be  defended  upon  principles  not  only  of  jus- 
tice but  of  equality.  What  hinders,  therefore,  but  that  man- 
kind may  draw  lots  for  their  condition?  They  take  their 

* The  reader  will  observe,  that  I speak  of  the  revelation  of  Ch/  istian- 
ity  as  distinct  from  Christianity  itself.  That  dispeiisation  may  £.  heady 
be  universal.  That  part  of  mankind  which  never  heard  of  Christ’s  r.rme, 
may  nevertheless  be  redeemed,  that  is,  be  placed  in  a better  condition, 
with  respect  to  their  future  state,  by  his  intervention;  may  be  the  objects 
of  his  benignity  and  intercession,  as  well  as  of  the  propitiatoiy  virtue  of 
his  passion.  But  this  is  not  “ natural  theology,”  therefore  I will  not 
dwell  longer  upon  it. 


Aa 


290 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


portion  of  faculties  and  opportunities,  as  any  unki  owi. 
cause,  or  concourse  of  causes,  or  as  causes  acting  for  other 
purposes,  may  happen  to  set  them  out:  but  the  event  is  gov 
erned  by  that  which  depends  upon  themselves,  the  applica- 
tion of  what  they  have  received.  In  dividing  the  talents, 
no  rule  was  observed;  none  was  necessary:  In  rewarding 
the  use  of  them,  that  of  the  most  correct  justice.  The  chief 
difference  at  last  appears  to  be,  that  the  right  use  of  more 
talents,  i.  e,  of  a greater  trust,  will  be  more  highly  reward 
ed,  than  the  right  use  of  fewer  talents,  i.  e.  of  a less  trust 
And  since,  for  other  purposes,  it  is  expedient  that  there  be 
an  inequality  of  concredited  talents  here,  as  well,  probably, 
as  an  inequality  of  conditions  hereafter,  though  all  remuner- 
atory;  can  any  rule,  adapted  to  that  inequality,  be  more 
agreeable,  even  to  our  apprehensions  of  distributive  justice 
than  this  is  ? 

We  have  said  that  the  appearance  of  casualty y which 
attends  the  occurrences  and  events  of  life,  not  only  does 
not  interfere  with  its  uses,  as  a state  of  probation,  but  that 
it  promotes  these  uses. 

Passive  virtues,  of  all  others  the  severest  and  the  most 
sublime;  of  all  others,  perhaps,  the  most  acceptable  to  the 
Deity;  would,  it  is  evident,  be  excluded  from  a constitution, 
in  which  happiness  and  misery  regularly  followed  virtue  and 
vice.  Patience  and  composure  under  distress,  affliction, 
and  pain;  a steadfast  keeping  up  of  our  confidence  in  God, 
and  of  our  reliance  upon  his  final  goodness,  at  the  time 
when  everything  present  is  adverse  and  discouraging;  and 
(what  is  no  less  difficult  to  retain)  a cordial  desire  for  the 
happiness  of  others,  even  when  we  are  deprived  of  our  own: 
these  dispositions,  which  constitute,  perhaps,  the  perfec- 
tion of  our  moral  nature,  would  not  have  found  their  pro- 
per office  and  object  in  a state  of  avowed  retribution;  and 
in  which,  consequently,  endurance  of  evil  would  be  only 
submission  to  punishment. 

Again:  One  man’s  sufferings  may  be  another  man’s 
trial.  The  family  of  a sick  parent  is  a school  of  filial 
piety.  The  charities  of  domestic  life,  and  not  only  these, 
but  all  the  social  virtues,  are  called  out  by  distress  But 
then,  misery,  to  be  the  proper  object  of  mitigation,  or  of 
that  benevolence  which  endeavours  to  relieve,  must  be  real- 
\y  or  apparently  casual.  It  is  upon  such  sufferings  alone 
that  benevolence  can  operate.  For  were  there  no  evils  in 
the  world,  but  what  were  punishments,  properly  and  intel- 
ligibly such,  benevolence  would  only  stand  in  the  way  of 


THE  GOODNESS  OF  THE  DEITY. 


291 


justice.  Such  evils,  consistently  with  the  administration 
of  moral  government,  could  not  be  prevented  or  alleviated, 
that  is  to  say,  could  not  be  remitted  in  whole  or  in  part, 
except  by  the  authority  which  inflicted  them,  or  by  an  ap- 
pellate or  superior  authority.  This  consideration,  which  is 
founded  in  our  most  acknowledged  apprehensions  of  the  na- 
ture of  penal  justice,  may  possess  its  weight  in  the  Divine 
counsels.  Virtue  perhaps  is  the  greatest  of  all  ends.  In 
human  beings,  relative  virtues  form  a large  part  of  the  whole. 
Now  relative  virtue  presupposes,  not  only  the  existence  of 
evil,  without  which  it  could  have  no  object,  no  material  to 
work  upon,  but  that  evils  be,  apparently  at  least,  misfortunes ; 
that  is,  the  effects  of  apparent  chance.  It  may  be  in  pur- 
suance, therefore,  and  in  furtherance  of  the  same  scheme 
of  probation,  that  the  evils  of  life  are  made  so  to  present 
themselves. 

I have  already  observed,  that,  when  we  let  in  religious 
considerations,  we  often  let  in  light  upon  the  difficulties  of 
nature.  So  in  the  fact  now  to  be  accounted  for,  the  degree 
of  happiness  which  we  usually  enjoy  in  this  life,  may  be 
better  suited  to  a state  of  trial  and  probation,  than  a great- 
er degree  would  be.  The  truth  is,  we  are  rather  too  much 
delighted  with  the  world,  than  too  little.  Imperfect,  broken, 
and  precarious  as  our  pleasures  are,  they  are  more  than  suffi- 
cient to  attach  us  to  the  eager  pursuit  of  them.  A regard 
to  a future  state  can  hardly  keep  its  place  as  it  is.  If  we 
were  designed,  therefore,  to  be  influenced  by  that  regard, 
might  not  a more  indulgent  system,  a higher,  or  more  unin- 
terrupted state  of  gratification,  have  interfered  with  the  de- 
sign.^ At  least  it  seems  expedient,  that  mankind  should 
be  susceptible  of  this  influence,  when  presented  to  them: 
that  the  condition  of  the  world  should  not  be  such  as  to 
exclude  its  operation,  or  even  to  weaken  it  more  than  it 
does.  In  a religious  view  (however  we  may  complain  of 
them  in  every  other,)  privation,  disappointment,  and  satiety, 
ere  not  without  the  most  salutary  tendencies. 


292 


CONCLUSION. 


C iAPTER  XXVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

Lf  all  cases,  wherein  the  mind  feels  itself  in  danger  of 
being  confounded  by  variety,  it  is  sure  to  rest  upon  a fe\> 
strong  points,  or  perhaps  upon  a single  instance.  Amongst 
a multitude  of  proofs,  it  is  one  that  does  the  business.  If 
we  observe  in  any  argument,  that  hardly  two  minds  fix 
upon  the  same  instance,  the  diversity  of  choice  shows  the 
strength  of  the  argument,  because  it  shows  the  number  and 
competition  of  the  examples.  There  is  no  subject  in  which 
the  tendency  to  dwell  upon  select  or  single  topics  is  so  usu- 
al, because  there  is  no  subject,  of  which,  in  its  full  extent, 
the  latitude  is  so  great,  as  that  of  natural  history  applied  to 
the  proof  of  an  intelligent  Creator.  For  my  part,  I take 
my  stand  in  human  anatomy;  and  the  examples  of  mechan- 
ism I should  be  apt  to  draw  out  from  the  copious  catalogue 
which  it  supplies,  are  the  pivot  upon  which  the  head  turns, 
the  ligament  within  the  socket  of  the  hip-joint,  the  pulley 
or  trochlear  muscles  of  the  eye,  the  epiglottis,  the  bandages 
which  tie  down  the  tendons  of  the  wrist  and  instep,  the  slit 
or  perforated  muscles  at  the  hands  and  feet,  the  knitting  of 
the  intestines  to  the  mesentery,  the  course  of  the  chyle  into 
the  blood,  and  the  constitution  of  the  sexes  as  extended 
throughout  the  whole  of  the  animal  creation.  To  these 
instances  the  reader^s  memory  will  go  back,  as  they  are 
severally  set  forth  in  their  places;  there  is  not  one  of  the 
number  which  I do  not  think  decisive;  not  one  which  is 
not  strictly  mechanical;  nor  have  I read  or  heard  of  any 
solution  of  these  appearances,  which,  in  the  smallest  de- 
gree, shakes  the  conclusion  that  we  build  upon  them. 

But,  of  the  greatest  part  of  those,  who,  either  in  this  book 
or  any  other,  read  arguments  to  prove  the  existence  of  a 
God,  it  will  be  said,  that  they  leave  off  only  where  they  be- 
gan; that  they  were  never  ignorant  of  this  great  truth,  nev- 
er doubted  of  it;  that  it  does  not,  therefore,  appear  what  is 
gained  by  researches  from  which  no  new  opinion  is  learned, 
and  upon  the  subject  of  which  no  proofs  were  wanted. 
Now  1 answer,  that,  by  invKsU ^ration,  the  following  points 
are  always  gained,  in  favor  ofdoctriries  even  the  most  gen- 
erally acknowledged,  (supposing  them  to  he  true,)  viz. 
stability  and  impression.  Occasions  will  arise  to  try  the 
firmness  of  our  most  habitu'.l  opinions.  And  upon  these  oc- 


COxVCLUSION. 


293 


casions,  it  is  a matter  of  incalculable  use  to  feel  our  foun- 
dation; to  find  a support  in  argument  for  what  we  had  taken 
up  upon  authority.  In  the  present  case,  the  arguments 
upon  which  the  conclusion  rests,  are  exactly  such  as  a 
truth  of  universal  concern  ought  to  rest  upon.  They  are 
sufficiently  open  to  the  views  and  capacities  of  the  unlearn- 
ed, at  tlie  same  time  that  they  acquire  new  strength  and 
lustre  from  the  discoveries  of  the  learned.”  If  they  had 
been  altogether  abstruse  and  recondite,  they  would  not 
have  found  their  way  to  the  understandings  of  the  mass  of 
mankind;  if  they  had  been  merely  popular,  they  migbt 
have  wanted  solidity. 

J3ut,  secondly,  what  is  gained  by  research  in  the  stability 
of  our  conclusion,  is  also  gained  from  it  in  impression. 
Physicians  tell  us,  that  there  is  a great  deal  of  difference 
between  taking  a medicine,  and  the  medicine  getting  into 
the  constitution.  A difference  not  unlike  which,  obtains 
with  respect  to  those  great  moral  propositions,  which  ought 
to  form  the  directing  principles  of  human  conduct.  It  is 
one  thing  to  assent  to  a proposition  of  this  sort;  and  another, 
and  a very  different  thing,  to  have  properly  imbibed  its  in- 
fluence. I take  the  case  to  be  this:  Perhaps  almost  every 
man  living  has  a particular  train  of  thought,  into  which  his 
mind  glides  and  falls,  when  at  leisure  from  the  impressions 
and  ideas  that  occasionally  excite  it;  perhaps,  also,  the 
train  of  thought  here  spoken  of,  more  than  any  other  thing, 
determines  the  character.  It  is  of  the  utmost  consequence, 
therefore,  that  this  property  of  our  constitution  be  well  reg- 
ulated. Now  it  is  by  frequent  oi  continued  meditation  upon 
a subject,  by  placing  a subject  in  different  points  of  view, 
by  induction  of  particulars,  by  variety  of  examples,  by  ap- 
plying principles  to  the  solution  of  phenomena,  by  dwelling 
upon  proofs  and  consequences,  that  mental  exercise  is  drawn 
into  any  particular  channel.  It  is  by  these  means,  at  least, 
that  we  have  any  power  over  it.  The  train  of  spontaneous 
thought,  and  the  choice  of  that  train,  may  be  directed  to 
different  ends,  and  may  appear  to  be  more  or  less  judiciously 
fixed,  according  to  the  purpose,  in  respect  of  which  we  con- 
sider it:  but,  in  a moral  view,  I shall  not,  I believe,  be  con- 
tradicted when  I say,  that,  if  one  train  of  thinking  be  more 
desirable  than  another,  it  is  that  which  regards  the  pheno- 
mena of  nature  with  a constant  reference  to  a supreme 
intelligent  Author.  JTo  have  made  this  the  ruling,  the  habit- 
ual sentiment  of  ou  * minds,  is  to  have  laid  the  foundation 
of  everything  whio*"'  s religious.  The  world  thenceforth 
Aa* 


294 


CONCLUSION. 


becomes  a temple,  and  life  itself  one  continued  act  of  ado- 
ration. The  change  is  no  less  than  this;  that  whereas  form- 
erl)^  God  was  seldom  in  our  thoughts,  we  can  now  scarcely 
look  upon  anything  without  perceiving  its  relation  to  him. 
Every  organized  natural  body,  in  the  pro\  isions  which  it 
contains  for  i s sustentation  and  propagation,  testifies  a 
care,  on  the  part  of  the  Creator,  expressly  directed  to  these 
purposes.  We  are  on  all  sides  surrounded  by  such  bodies; 
examined  in  their  parts,  wonderfully  curious;  compared 
with  one  another,  no  less  wonderfully  diversified.  So  that 
the  mind,  as  well  as  the  eye,  may  either  expatiate  in  vari 
ety  and  multitude,  or  fix  itself  down  to  the  investigation 
of  particular  divisions  of  the  science.  And  in  either  case 
it  will  rise  up  from  its  occupation,  possessed  by  the  subject, 
in  a very  different  manner,  and  with  a very  diferent  degree 
of  influence,  from  what  a mere  assent  to  any  verbal  pro- 
position which  can  be  formed  concerning  the  existence  of 
the  Deity,  at  least  that  merely  complying  assent  with  which 
those  about  us  are  satisfied,  and  with  which  we  are  too 
apt  to  satisfy  ourselves,  will  or  can  produce  upon  the 
thoughts.  More  especially  may  this  difference  be  per- 
ceived, in  the  degree  of  admiration  and  of  awe  with  which 
the  Divinity  is  regarded,  when  represented  to  the  under- 
standing by  its  own  remarks,  its  own  reflections,  and  its 
own  reasonings,  compared  with  what  is  excited  by  any 
language  that  can  be  used  by  others.  The  works  of  nature 
want  only  to  be  contemplated.  When  contemplated,  they 
have  everything  in  them  which  can  astonish  by  their  great- 
ness: for,  of  the  vast  scale  of  operation  through  which  our 
discoveries  carry  us,  at  one  end  we  see  an  intelligent  Pow- 
er arranging  planetary  systems,  fixing,  for  instance,  the 
trajectory  of  Saturn,  or  constructing  a ring  of  two  hundred 
thousand  miles  diameter  to  surround  his  body,  and  be  sus- 
pended like  a magnificent  arch  over  the  heads  of  his  in- 
habitants; and,  at  the  other,  bending  a hooked  tooth,  con- 
certing and  providing  an  appropriate  mechanism,  for  the 
clasping  and  reclasping  of  the  filaments  of  the  feather  of  the 
humming  bird.  We  have  proof,  not  only  of  both  these 
works  proceeding  from  an  intelligent  agent,  but  of  their 
proceeding  from  the  same  agent:  for,  in  the  first  place,  we 
can  trace  an  identity  of  plan,  a connexion  of  system,  from 
Saturn  to  our  own  globe:  and  when  arrived  upon  our  globe, 
we  can,  in  the  second  place,  pursue  the  connexion  through 
all  the  organized,  especially  the  animated,  bodies  which  it 
supports.  We  can  observe  marks  of  a common  relation 


CONCLUSION. 


295 


as  well  to  one  another  as  to  the  elements  of  which  then 
habitation  is  composed  Therefore  one  mind  hath  planned 
or  at  least  hath  prescribed,  a general  plan  for  all  these  pro- 
ductions. One  Being  las  been  concerned  in  all. 

Under  this  stupendous  Being  we  live.  Our  happiness, 
our  existence,  is  in  his  hands.  All  we  expect  must  come 
from  him.  Nor  ought  we  to  feel  our  situation  insecure. 
In  every  nature,  and  in  every  portion  of  nature,  which  we 
can  descry,  we  find  attention  bestowed  upon  even  the  mi- 
nutest parts.  The  hinges  in  the  wings  of  an  earivig,  and 
the  joints  of  its  antennae,  are  as  highly  wrought,  as  if  the 
Creator  had  nothing  else  to  finish.  We  see  no  signs  of 
diminution  of  care  by  multiplicity  of  objects,  or  of  distrac- 
tion of  thought  by  variety.  We  have  no  reason  to  fear, 
therefore,  our  being  forgotten,  or  overlooked,  or  neglected. 

The  existence  and  character  of  the  Deity,  is,  in  every 
view,  the  most  interesting  of  all  human  speculations.  In 
none,  however,  is  it  more  so,  than  as  rt  facilitates  the  l^e- 
lief  of  the  fundamental  articles  of  Revelation.  It  is  a step 
to  have  it  proved,  that  there  must  be  something  in  the  world 
more  than  what  we  see.  It  is  a farther  step  to  know,  that 
amongst  the  invisible  things  of  nature,  there  must  be  an  in- 
telligent mind,  concerned  in  its  production,  order,  and  sup- 
port. These  points  being  assured  to  us  by  Natural  The- 
ology, we  may  well  leave  to  Revelation  the  disclosure  of 
many  particulars,  which  our  researches  cannot  reach,  re- 
specting either  the  nature  of  this  Being  as  the  original  cause 
of  all  things,  or  his  character  and  designs  as  a moral  gov- 
ernor; and  not  only  so,  but  the  more  full  confirmation  of 
other  particulars,  of  which,  though  they  do  not  lie  alto- 
gether beyond  our  reasonings  and  our  probabilities,  the 
certainty  is  by  no  means  equal  to  the  importance.  The 
true  theist  will  be  the  first  to  listen  to  any  credible  commu- 
nication of  Divine  knowledge.  Nothing  which  he  has 
learned  from  Natural  Theology,  will  diminish  his  desire 
of  farther  instruction,  or  his  disposition  to  receive  it  with 
humility  and  thankfulness.  He  wishes  for  light:  he  re- 
joices in  light.  His  inward  veneration  of  this  great  Being, 
will  incline  him  to  attend  with  the  utmost  seriousness,  not 
only  to  all  that  can  be  discovered  concerning  him  by  re- 
searches into  nature,  but  to  all  that  is  taught  by  a revela- 
tion, which  gives  reasonable  proof  of  having  proceeded 
from  him. 

But  above  every  ether  article  of  revealed  religion,  does 
the  anterior  belief  of  a Deity  bear  w‘  h the  strongest  force 


296 


CONCl  USION 


upon  that  gtand  point,  which  gives  indeed  interest  and  im 
portance  to  all  the  rest — the  resurrection  of  the  human 
dead.  The  thing  might  appear  hopeless,  did  we  not  see 
a power  at  work  adequate  to  the  effect,  a power  under  the 
guidance  of  an  intelligent  will,  and  a power  penetrating  the 
inmost  recesses  of  all  substance.  I am  far  from  justifying 
the  opinion  of  those,  who  ‘‘thought -it  a thing  incredible 
that  God  should  raise  the  dead:”  but  I admit,  that  it  is  first 
necessary  to  be  persuaded,  that  there  is  a God  to  do  so. 
This  being  thoroughly  settled  in  our  minds,  there  seems  to 
be  nothing  in  this  process  (concealed  and  mysterious  as  we 
confess  it  to  be)  which  need  to  shock  our  belief.  They 
who  have  taken  up  the  opinion,  that  the  acts  of  the  human 
mind  depend  upon  organization,  that  the  mind  itself  indeed 
consists  in  organization,  are  supposed  to  find  a greater  dif- 
ficulty than  others  do,  in  admitting  a transition  by  death  to 
a new  state  of  sentient  existence,  because  the  old  organiza- 
tion is  apparently  dissolved.  But  I do  not  see  that  any  im- 
practicability need  be  apprehended  even  by  these;  or  that 
the  change,  even  upon  their  hypothesis,  is  far  removed 
from  the  analogy  of  some  other  operations,  which  we  know 
with  certainty  that  the  Deity  is  carrying  on.  In  the  ordi- 
nary derivation  of  plants  and  animals  from  one  another,  a 
particle,  in  many  cases,  minuter  than  all  assignable,  all  con- 
ceivable dimension;  an  aura,  an  effluvium,  an  infinitesimal; 
determines  the  organization  of  a future  body;  does  no  less 
than  fix,  whether  that  which  is  about  to  be  produced  shall 
be  a vegetable,  a merely  sentient,  or  a rational  being;  an 
oak,  a frog,  or  a philosopher;  makes  all  these  differences, 
gives  to  the  future  body  its  qualities,  and  nature,  and  spe- 
cies. And  this  particle,  from  which  springs,  and  by  which 
is  determined  a whole  future  nature,  itself  proceeds  from, 
and  owes  its  constitution  to,  a prior  body;  nevertheless, 
which  is  seen  in  plants  most  decisively,  the  incepted  organ- 
ization, though  formed  within,  and  through,  and  by  a pre- 
ceding organization,  is  not  corrupted  by  its  corruption,  or 
destroyed  by  its  dissolution;  but,  on  the  contrary,  is  some- 
times extricated  and  developed  by  those  very  causes;  sur- 
vives and  comes  into  action,  when  the  purpose  for  which 
it  w^as  prepared  requires  its  use.  Now  an  economy  which 
nature  has  adopted,  when  the  purpose  was  to  transfer  an 
organization  from  one  individual  to  another,  may  have  some- 
thing analogous  to  it,  when  the  purpose  is  to  transmit  an 
organization  from  one  state  of  being  to  another  state:  and 
they  who  found  thought  in  organization,  may  see  something 


CONCLUSION. 


297 


in  tliis  analogy  applicable  to  their  difficulties,  for,  what- 
ever can  transmit  a similari.y  of  organization  will  answer 
their  purpose,  because,  according  even  to  their  own  theory, 
it  may  be  tbe  vehicle  of  consciousness;  and  because  con- 
sciovisness  carries  identity  and  individuality  along  with  it 
through  all  changes  of  form  or  of  visible  qualities.  In  the 
most  general  case,  that,  as  we  have  said,  of  the  derivation 
of  plants  and  animals  from  one  another,  the  latent  organi- 
zation is  either  itself  similar  to  the  old  organization,  or 
has  the  power  of  communicating  to  new  matter  the  old 
organic  form.  But  it  is  not  restricted  to  this  rule.  There 
are  other  cases,  especially  in  the  progress  of  insect  life,  in 
which  the  dormant  organization  does  not  much  resemble 
that  which  encloses  it,  and  still  less  suits  with  the  situation 
in  which  the  enclosing  body  is  placed,  but  suits  with  a dif- 
ferent situation  to  which  it  is  destined.  In  the  larva  of  the 
libellula,  which  lives  constantly,  and  has  still  long  to  live, 
under  water,  are  descried  the  wings  of  a fly,  which  two 
yeaVs  afterwards  is  to  mount  into  the  air.  Is  there  nothing 
in  this  analogy? — It  serves  at  least  to  show,  that  even  in 
the  observable  course  of  nature,  organizations  are  formed 
one  beneath  another;  and,  amongst  a thousand  other  in- 
stances, it  shows  completely,  that  the  Deity  can  mould  and 
fashion  the  parts  of  material  nature,  so  as  to  fulfil  any  pur- 
pose whatever  which  he  is  pleased  to  appoint. 

They  who  refer  the  operations  of  mind  to  a substance 
totally  and  essentially  different  from  matter,  (as  most  cer- 
tainly these  operations,  though  affected  by  material  caus- 
es, hold  very  little  affinity  to  any  properties  of  matter  with 
which  we  are  acquainted,)  adopt  perhaps  a juster  reaspning 
and  a better  philosophy ; and  by  these  the  considerations 
above  suggested  are  not  wanted,  at  least  in  the  same  de- 
gree. But  to  such  as  find,  which  some  persons  do  find,  an 
insuperable  difficulty  in  shaking  off  an  adherence  to  those 
analogies  which  the  corporeal  world  is  continually  suggest- 
ing to  their  thoughts;  to  such,  I say,  every  consideration 
will  be  a relief,  which  manifests  the  extent  of  that  intelli- 
gent power  which  is  acting  in  nature,  the  fruitfulness  of 
iU  resources,  the  variety,  and  aptness,  and  success  of  its 
means;  most  especially  every  consideration  which  tends  to 
show,  that,  in  the  translation  of  a conscious  existence, 
there  is  no  even  in  their  own  way  of  regarding  it,  any- 
thing greatly  beyond,  or  totally  unlike,  what  takes  place 


298 


CONCLUSION. 


in  such  parts  (probably  small  parts)  of  the  order  of  nature 
as  are  accessible  to  our  observation. 

Again;  if  there  be  those  who  think,  that  the  contracted- 
ness and  debility  of  the  human  faculties  in  our  present 
state,  seem  ill  to  accord  with  the  high  destinies  which  the 
expectations  of  religion  point  out  to  us,  I would  only  ask 
them,  whether  any  one,  who  saw  a child  two  hours  after  its 
birth,  could  suppose  that  it  would  ever  come  to  understand 
fluxions;^  or  who  then  shall  say,  what  farther  amplification 
of  intellectual  powers,  what  accession  of  knowledge,  what 
advance  and  improvement,  the  rational  faculty,  be  its  con- 
stitution what  it  will,  may  not  admit  of,  when  placed  amidst 
new  objects,  and  endowed  with  a sensorium  adapted,  as  it 
undoubtedly  will  be,  and  as  our  present  senses  are,  to  the 
perception  of  those  substances,  and  of  those  properties  of 
things,  with  which  our  concern  may  lie. 

Upon  the  whole ; in  everything  which  respects  this  awful, 
but,  as  we  trust,  glorious  change,  we  have  a wise  and 
powerful  Being  (the  author,  in  nature,  of  infinitely  various 
expedients,  for  infinitely  various  ends)  upon  whom  to  rely 
for  the  choice  and  appointment  of  means,  adequate  to  the 
execution  of  any  plan  which  his  goodness  or  his  justice 
may  have  formed,  for  the  moral  and  accountable  part  of  his 
terrestrial  creation.  That  great  office  rests  with  him:  be 
it  ou7's  to  hope  and  to  prepare,  under  a firm  and  settled 
persuasion,  that,  living  and  dying,  we  are  his;  that  life  is 
passed  in  his  constant  presence,  that  death  resigns  us  to 
bis  merciful  disposal. 

* See  Sea  sh’s  Light  of  Nature,  passim. 


VOCABULARY 


A. 


Abdomen,  the  cavity  of  the  belly. 

Accretion,  a growth;  increase  in  size  or  extent 

Adifose,  fatty,  containing  fat. 

Alkalies,  a peculiar  class  of  chemical  substances  which  have  the  fiop- 
erty  of  combitmg  with  and  neutralizing  the  properties  of  acids. 

Anconceus,  the  name  of  one  of  the  muscles  which  extend  the  e'.bow 
joint. 

Anal,  a term  applied  to  one  of  the  fins  of  fish,  situated  near  the  anus  of 
vent. 

Anhelation,  breathing  hard  or  panting. 

Annular,  in  the  form  of  a ring. 

Annuli,  rings — applied  to  the  muscular  fibres  which  surroun^i  the  bodies 
of  some  animals  like  rings. 

Antennae,  organs  of  touch,  situated  near  the  mouths  of  insects  having 
many  joints. 

Antherae,  small  bodies  which  contain  the  pollen  or  fertilizing  dust  of 
flowers  ; the  antherae  are  fixed  generally  on  the  ends  of  slender  fila- 
ments, and  surround  the  germ  or  seed  vessel. 

Aorta,  the  main  artery  of  the  body,  which  receives  the  blood  directly 
from  the  heart  and  distributes  it  to  the  body. 

Auricle,  a cavity  of  the  heart.  Its  external  shape  gives  it  the  appear- 
ance of  an  appendage  to  the  organ,  and  its  name  is  derived  from  its 
supposed  resemblance  to  an  ear,  (auricula.) 

Automaton,  a machine  having  a power  of  motion  within  itself,  but  des- 
titute of  life. 

B. 

Buccinator,  the  principal  muscle  of  the  cheek. 

Biceps,  one  of  the  muscles  which  bend  the  elbow-joint. 

Bivalve,  consisting  of  two  valves  or  shells,  as  in  shell-fish — e g thf 
oyster. 

Brachiceus,  the  name  of  two  muscles  moving  the  arm. 

Brevis,  short. 

C. 

Calyx,  the  flower  cup  ; the  external  or  outermost  part  of  the  flower, 
generally  resembling  the  leaves  in  color,  and  containing  the  othe- 
parts  of  the  flower  within  it.  It  is  often  wanting. 

Camera  ohscura,  or  dark  chamber.  An  optical  instrument  in  which 
the  rays  of  light  from  external  objects  are  made  to  pass  through  a con- 
vex lens  into  a dark  box  where  they  are  received  upon  a screen,  and 
produce  a representation  of  external  objects. 

Capsule,  the  seed  vessel  of  plants. 

Carnivorous,  feeding  or  living  on  flesh. 


300 


VOCABULARY. 


Carotid,  the  name  of  the  arteries  which  pass  up  the  neck  on  ^ach  sid<r 
of  the  windpipe,  and  convey  the  blood  to  the  head. 

Cartilaginous,  gristly;  formed  from  or  consisting  of  gristle. 

Cellular,  consisting  of  cells. 

Centripetal,  having  a tendency  towards  the  centre.  All  bodies  on  the 
surface,  have  a tendency  to  fall  towards  the  centre  of  the  earth. 

Cetaceous,  of  the  whale  kind. 

Chrysalis,  an  insect  in  the  second  stage  of  its  metamorphosis. 

Cicat7'ix,  a scar. 

Comminuted,  broken  up  into  small  pieces. 

Conatus,  attempt,  endeavour,  effort. 

Condyles,  prominences  at  the  ends  of  some  of  the  bones  which  are  in- 
tended to  afford  surfaces  for  the  formation  of  joints. 

Co7ige7'ies,  a heap  or  pile  of  bodies  accumulated  together. 

Connate,  produced  or  being  born  together;  having  their  origin  at  the 
same  time,  and  from  the  same  cause. 

Convolution,  the  turning,  rolling,  or  winding  of  anything.  The  convo- 
lutions of  a snail’s  shell  are  the  spiral  windings  of  the  tube  in  which  it 
exists  around  a central  pillar  or  basis. 

Co7'nea,  the  transparent  coat  at  the  front  part  of  the  eye,  through  which 
we  see  the  pupil  and  the  iris. 

Corolla.  This  term  includes  what  are  commonly  called  the  leaves  of 
the  flower,  viz.  the  various  colored  leaves  which  give  their  beauty 
and  fragrance  to  most  flowers. 

Cretaceous,  formed  of,  or  consisting  of  chalk.  It  is  applied  not  merely 
to  substances  consisting  of  chalk,  commonly  so  called,  but  to  a variety 
of  others,  which  resemble  it  merely  in  having  the  same  chemical  com- 
position, such  as  the  shells  of  shell-fish,  &c. 

Cubital,  an  anatomical  term  used  to  designate  parts  in,  and  relating  to, 
the  cubit  or  fore-arm,  which  extends  from  the  elbow  to  the  hand. 

D. 

Deglutition,  the  act  of  swallowing. 

Diaphragm,  a muscular  membrane  which  is  stretched  completely  acrcss 
the  cavity  of  the  body  like  a curtain,  and  divides  the  chest  from  the 
belly,  and  by  its  contraction  performs  an  important  part  in  the  act  of 
respiration. 

Diopt7'ic,  a term  applied  to  that  part  of  the  science  of  optics  which 
treats  of  the  passage  of  light  through,  and  its  refraction  by  means  of, 
transparent  substances. 

Dorsal,  appertaining  to  the  back. 

Ductus  arteriosus,  a duct  or  canal  leading  from  the  pulmonary  arteries 
to  the  aorta,  by  which  the  blood  is  before  birth  conveyed  from  the  pul- 
monary arteries  to  the  aorta  without  passing  through  the  lungs.  It  is 
closed  after  birth. 

Duodenum,  the  first  of  the  small  intestines,  being  the  next  in  order 
to  the  stomach,  and  receiving  the  food  from  it. 

E. 

Elytra,  the  external,  hard,  scaly  wings  of  many  insects,  such  as  iho 
beetles. 

Ento7nology,  the  science  relating  to  insects. 

Epiglottis,  a valve  which  covers  the  passage  from  the  mouth  into  the 
windpipe. 

Eruca  labra,  the  name  of  an  insect 


VOCAtULARY. 


301 


Eustachian,  applied  to  parts  first  discovered  Dy  Eustachias. 

Exility,  slenderness,  smallness. 

Exuviae,  the  cast  off  skins,  shells,  or  other  coverings  of  animals 

Exsiccation,  drying,  parting  with  moisture  to  air  or  lieat. 

Evagation,  wandering,  deviation  from  an  appointed  course. 

F. 

Farina.  This  word  is  sometimes  used  instead  of  pollen  for  the  fertili- 
zing dust  produced  from  the  stamens  and  anthers  of  flowers,  and  col- 
lected by  bees.  It  is  so  used  by  our  author. 

Fibula,  a small  long  bone,  extending  from  the  knee  to  the  ankle-joint, 
parallel  to  and  connected  with  the  tibia  or  principal  bone  of  the  leg  on 
its  outside.  The  lower  end  of  it  forms  the  outer  ankle. 

Foramen  ovale,  or  oval  hole,  an  opening  in  the  foetal  state,  between 
the  two  ventricles  of  the  heart,  permitting  the  passage  of  blood  from 
one  to  the  other.  It  is  closed  after  birth. 

Fusee,  see  Plate  of  the  parts  of  the  watch. 

G. 

Gallinaceous.  Birds  of  a particular  order,  living  generally  upon  grains 
or  seeds  of  plants,  of  a stately  aspect,  and  confined  powers  of  flight, 
^uch  are  the  common  domestic  fowl,  the  turkey,  the  peacock,  &c. 

Gestation,  the  act  of  carrying  the  young  within  the  body  of  the  parent, 
whether  in  the  state  of  the  egg  or  of  the  living  foetus. 

Graminivorous,  living  or  feeding  upon  grass. 

Granivorous,  living  or  feeding  upon  grain*  and  seeds. 

Gregarious,  herding  together — flocking  together — assembling  in  herds 
and  companies. 

H. 

Halitus,  the  watery  vapor  which  is  thrown  out  from  the  lungs  with  the 
air  at  every  act  of  respiration. 

Hemiplegia,  a paralysis  or  palsy  of  one  half  of  the  body,  consisting  in  a 
loss  of  the  sense  of  feeling;  or  of  the  power  of  voluntary  motion;  or  of 
both. 

Herbivorous,  living  upon  herbs,  or  rather  upon  vegetable  substances  b 
general.  A term  used  in  contra-distinction  to  carnivorous. 

Homologous,  having  the  same  relation  or  proportions.  Lines  drawn 
through  any  two  similar  bodies  of  different  sizes,  are  said  to  be  homo- 
logous when  they  are  drawn  through  corresponding  parts  of  each. 

Hybernacula,  the  habitations,  coverings,  or  retreats  in  which  animals 
pass  the  winter.  Animals  when  residing  in  them  are  generally  in  a 
torpid  state. 

Hydrocanthari,  a name  of  insects 

I. 

Ignited,  a chemical  term  applied  to  a body  raised  to  a high  degree  of 
heat. 

Inertia,  a property  of  all  matter  which  disposes  it  to  remain  in  the  state 
in  which  it  is,  whether  of  motion  or  rest. 

JriSy  plural  Hides  ; the  colored  ring  surrounding  the  pupil  of  the  eye. 

L. 

Lachrymal,  appertaining  to  or  relating  to  the  tears,  or  to  the  apparatus 
for  their  production. 

Lacteals,  capillary  or  hair-like  vessels  opening  upon  the  internal  surface 

Bb 


309 


VOCABULARY. 


of  the  intestines,  absorbing  the  chyle  or  nutritious  fluid  prepared  by 
the  digestive  organs  from  the  food,  and  conveying  it  through  the  me- 
sentery to  the  thoracic  duct  and  thence  into  the  circulating  mass  of  the 
blood. 

Lamella^  a thin  plate  or  edge. 

Laminae,  thin  plates  or  layers. 

Larynx,  the  upper  part  of  the  windpipe,  including  the  organs  of  voice 

Lens,  a circular  glass  whose  surfaces  are  either  convex  or  concave.  It 
is  also  applied  to  any  other  transparent  body  of  the  same  shape,  as  ice, 
crystal,  or  diamond. 

Levitation,  the  making  an  object  lighter  ; giving  to  it  a buoyant  ten- 
dency. 

Longus,  long.  A name  applied  to  several  muscles  of  the  Jody  on  ac- 
count of  their  length  when  compared  with  other  muscles. 

Lubricity,  facility  of  the  slipping  or  gliding  of  one  surface  over  another 
witnoui  friction,  whether  in  consequence  of  the  smoothness  of  the  sur 
faces,  or  the  interposition  of  some  soft,  slippery  fluid,  or  substance. 

Lubricate,  to  give  lubricity. 

Luxation,  dislocation  of  a bone,  throwing  a bone  out  of  joint. 

Lymphatics,  small  vessels  in  the  bodies  of  animals  carrying  lymph. 

M. 

Masseter,  a strong  muscle  which  closes  the  jaw  in  chewing,  situated  at 
the  back  part  of  the  cheek  towards  the  ear.  It  may  be  felt  in  chewing. 

Mediastinum,  a fold  of  the  membrane  lining  the  chest,  by  which  it  is 
divided  into  two  cavities. 

Medullary,  formed  or  consisting  of  marrow.  Applied  to  the  substance 
of  the  brain  and  nerves,  and  to  that  in  the  cavities  of  some  of  the  bones. 

Menstruum,  any  liquid  or  fluid  in  which  another  body  is  dissolved. 

Mesentery,  a double  fold  of  the  membrane  lining  the  abdomen  and  cover- 
ing the  intestines,  by  which  the  latter  are  suspended,  and  are  connected 
to  the  walls  of  the  cavity.  It  gives  passage  to  vessels,  nerves,  and  to 
the  lacteals. 

Monopetalous,  applied  to  flowers  consisting  of  a single  petal  or  flower 
cup. 

N. 

Mectaria,  that  part  of  the  corolla  of  plants  which  produces  honey. 

JYictitating,  winking.  Applied  generally  to  the  third  eyelid  of  birds  .inO 
some  other  animals. 

JSrigella,  the  name  of  a plant. 

JSTymphae,  insects  in  the  second  preparatory  state,  before  their  fma 
transformation. 


O. 

Oblate.  A sphere  flattened  at  the  poles  is  said  to  be  oblate. 

Oesophagus,  the  tube  or  canal  which  conveys  food  from  the  mouth  to  tr^s 
stomach. 

Omentum,  the  caul;  a kind  of  apron  formed  of  fat  and  membrane  which 
hangs  down  and  covers  the  intestines  within  the  abdomen. 

Os  hyoides,  the  bone  of  the  tongue  and  throat. 

Os  pubis,  the  bone  whicli  arches  forward  from  the  pelvis,  and  supporti 
the  lower  part  of  the  belly. 

Ossification,  a change  of  structure  into  bone. 

Oviparous,  bringing  forth  or  bearing  young  by  means  of  eggs. 


VOCABULARY. 


303 


P. 

Pahnated,  liaving  a palm  like  that  of  the  hand. 

Pancreas^  a gland  within  the  abdomen,  just  below  the  stomacn,  and 
providing  a fluid  to  assist  in  digestion. 

Papillae^  little  projections  on  the  surface  of  organs,  as  on  the  tongue, 
which  are  the  seats  of  sensation. 

Papilionaceous i of  or  resembling  butterflies.  Applied  to  a certain  tiibe 
of  flowers  on  account  of  their  resemblance  in  shape  to  those  insects. 

Pectoral^  of  or  relating  to  the  chest. 

Pelvis,  the  broad  flat  basin,  constituting  the  lower  part  of  the  abdomen, 
composed  principally  of  the  broad  flat  bones  usually  called  the  hip  and 
haunch  bones. 

Peritonaeum,  a membrane  lining  the  cavity  of  the  abdomen  and  giving 
a close  covering  to  all  its  contents. 

Peristaltic,  applied  to  the  crawling,  worm-like  motion  of  the  intestines. 

Pericardium,  the  bag  containing  the  heart. 

Pericnrpium,  a kind  of  seed  vessels  of  plants. 

Periosteum,  the  membrane  which  adheres  to,  and  closely  invests  the 
surface  of  bones. 

Petals,  the  flower  leaves,  or  leaves  of  the  corolla  of  plants. 

Pharynx,  the  cavity  at  the  back  part  of  the  mouth  which  receives  the 
food  just  before  swallowing,  and  transmits  it  to  the  oesophagus. 

Phosphoric,  of  or  resembling  phosphorus. 

Pistil,  the  part  of  a flower  intended  to  receive  the  pollen  or  fertilizing 
dust  of  the  stamens. 

Piston,  a movable  cylinder  in  the  tube  of  some  machines,  intended  to 
take  ofF  'rv  its  motion  the  pressure  of  the  air,  or  to  receive  the  impulse 
from  steam;  as  in  the  pump  and  steam-engine. 

Plaiitule,  a little  plant.  Applied  to  the  part  which  first  sprouts  from  the 
seed  when  it  begins  to  grow.  It  refers  to  the  same  part  with  Plumule, 

Pleura,  the  membrane  lining  the  chest. 

Plumule,  see  plantule. 

Pneumatic,  of  or  relating  to  the  air  or  wind. 

Polleti,  the  fertilizing  dust  of  flowers,  produced  by  the  stamens,  and  falling 
upon  the  pistils  in  order  to  render  a flower  capable  of  producing  seed 
or  fruit. 

Primordial,  original. 

R. 

Radicle,  the  little  root  which  is  first  sent  out  by  a seed  when  it  begins  to 
grow. 

Refraction,  generally  applied  to  the  change  of  direction  which  takes  place 
when  a ray  of  light  moves  from  one  medium  into  another  of  a diflerent 
density. 

Renitency,  resistance. 

Retina,  a very  sensible  and  delicate  membrane  at  the  back  part  of  the 
eye,  intended  to  receive  the  images  ofobjects  like  the  screen  of  a camera 
obscura.  Supposed  to  be  an  expansion  of  the  nerve  of  the  eye. 

Rictus,  the  extent  of  the  mouth  when  opened  widely  as  in  gaping. 

S. 

Sanguiferous,  carrying  blood. 

Sensorium,  the  seat  or  centre  of  sensations,  to  which  all  the  impressions 
made  upon  the  external  organs  of  sense  are  transuJlted,  and  where 
they  are  perceived. 


304 


VOCABULARY 


Spheroid,  approaching  in  form  to,  or  resembling  a sphere. 

Spiculae,  spines  or  sharp  projections. 

Sternum,  the  breast  bone. 

Stigma,  plural,  stigmata;  the  extremity  of  the  pistil  of  plants. 

Storgee,  the  sentiment  or  instinct  of  parental  affection. 

Stum,  an  unfermented  mass  of  liquor. 

Subclavian,  a term  applied  to  parts  which  are  situated  beneath  the  cluvh 
cle  or  collar  bone  as  the  subclavian  artery,  &c. 

Sugescent,  employed  in  sucking. 

Sui  generis,  of  a peculiar  kind  or  character. 

Sutures,  the  union  of  bones  by  their  edges,  without  movable  joints, 
as  in  the  flat  bones  of  the  skull.  The  edges  in  this  case  are  offer, 
notched  like  the  teeth  of  a saw,  and  the  line  of  union  resembles  a 
seam.  Whence  called  a suture. 

Synovia,  the  liquid  which  lubricates  the  internal  surfaces  of  the  joints  to 
give  facility  of  motion. 

T. 

Telum  imbelle,  a harmless  weapon. 

Thorax,  the  chest. 

Tibia,  the  main  bone  of  the  leg,  extending  from  the  knee  to  the  foot. 
Its  projecting  extremity  forms  the  inner  ankle,  and  iu  ends  enter  into 
the  formation  of  both  the  knee  and  ankle  joints. 

Trachea,  the  windpipe. 

Tubercle,  a swelling  or  prominence. 

U. 

Umbilical,  proceeding  from  or  relating  to  the  navel  or  umbilicus 
Univalve,  consisting  of  a single  valve  or  shell,  such  as  the  snail,  cockle. 
Urachus,  a vessel  leading  from  the  bladder  to  the  navel  before  birth, 
which  is  converted  into  a ligament  after  birth. 

Ureter,  the  tube  conveying  the  urine  from  the  kidneys  to  the  bladder 

V. 

Vallisneria,  the  name  of  a plant. 

Valvulae  conniventes,  folds  formed  by  the  internal  membrane  of  tho 
intestines,  constituting  partial  valves,  and  intended  to  retard  the  pas- 
sage  of  the  food.  ^ 

Vascular,  containing  or  consisting  of  vessels. 

Uena  cava,  one  of  the  great  veins  which  brings  the  blood  from  the  ox 
tremities  of  the  body  to  the  heart. 

Ventral,  of  or  appertainmg  to  the  belly. 

Ventricle,  a term  applied  to  s'everal  small  internal  cavities  in  the  body 
as  the  ventricles  of  the  brain  and  of  the  heart.  * 

Vertebrae,  the  separate  bones  constituting  the  back  bone. 

Viscus,  plural  Viscera;  the  internal  organs  of  the  body,  as  iunffs,  heart 
stomach,  liver,  brain,  &c.  j ^ • 

Viviparous,  producing  or  bringing  forth  young  alive. 
f ortex,  plural  Vortices  ; anything  whirled  round.  The  heavenly  bod- 
les  have  been  formerly  supposed  to  be  carried  around  in  their  orbits  by 
certain  vertices  or  whirlpools  which  were  imagined  to  exist. 


PAXTON’S  ILLUSTRATIONS, 

WITH 

DESCRIPTIONS. 


INDEX  TO  THE  PLATES. 


Plate 

Page 

Plate 

I’age 

1. 

The  watch 

307 

24. 

The  opossum 

376 

2. 

The  eye 

310 

25. 

Claw  of  the  heron — Bill  of 

3. 

The  eye  of  birds  and  of  the 

the  Soland  goose  . . . 

379 

eel 

313 

26. 

Stomach  of  the  camel  . . 

382 

4. 

The  lachrymal  apparatus 

27. 

Tongue  of  the  woodpecker. 

and  nictitating  membrane  316 

and  skull  of  the  baby- 

5. 

The  human  ear,  and  tym- 

rouessa  

385 

panum  of  the  elephant  . 

319 

28. 

Temporary  and  permanent 

6. 

Trochlear  muscle  of  the  eye 

teeth 

388 

and  kidney 

322 

29. 

Foramen  ovale,  and  ductus 

7. 

Vertebrae  of  the  human 

arteriosus 

391 

neck 

325 

30. 

Fore  extremity  of  the  mole 

8. 

Bones  of  the  arm  .... 

328 

— Head  of  the  elephant — 

9. 

The  spine 

331 

Finger-like  extremity  of 

10. 

The  chest,  patella,  and 

the  proboscis — Section  of 

shoulder-blade  .... 

334 

the  proboscis — Bat’s  wing 

11. 

The  hip,  knee  and  ankle- 

— Bill  of  the  parrot — 

joints  

337 

Eyes  of  insects — Eyes  of 

12. 

The  sartorius  and  oblique 

a spider  

394 

muscles  of  the  head  . . 

340 

31. 

The  chameleon,  and  intes- 

13. 

The  muscles  of  the  arm  . 

343 

tine  of  the  sea-fox  . . . 

397 

14. 

The  muscles  that  raise  the 

32. 

The  wings  of  the  beetle. 

eye-lids,  and  sphincter  or 

awl,  sting  of  the  bee,  pro- 

circular muscles  . . . 

346 

boscis,  &c 

400 

15. 

The  digastric  muscle  . . 

349 

33. 

Silk  secretors  of  the  silk- 

16. 

The  tendons  of  the  toes  . 

350 

worm — Spinnerets  of  the 

37. 

The  heart 

355 

spider — Panorpa  commu- 

18. 

The  stomach,  gall-bladder, 

nis — Female  and  male 

&c 

358 

glow-worm — Larva  libel- 

19. 

The  lacteals  and  thoracic 

lulae — Breathing  spiracu- 

duct 

361 

Ise — Pupa  of  gnat — Stra- 

20. 

The  parotid  gland  . . . 

364 

tyomis  chameleon  . . . 

403 

21. 

The  larynx 

367 

34. 

The  capsule,  pistil,  stamina 

22. 

Package  of  the  viscera  and 

of  nigella;  plumule,  and 

mesentery  . . . . . 

370 

radicle 

406 

23. 

Nerves  of  the  bill  of  a duck 

35. 

Vallisneria 

409 

— Valvulae  conniventes — 

36. 

Cuscuta  Europaea  .... 

412 

Chap.  XIII.  Air-bladder 

37. 

The  autumnal  crocus  . . 

415 

of  a fish,  and  fang  of  the 

38. 

The  dionaea  muscipula  . . 

418 

viper 

373 

39. 

Astronomy 

422 

Bb^ 

305 

CHAPTER  1. 


Plate  I.  — the  watch. 

Fig.  1.  The  box,  or  barrel,  containing  the  main  spring,  which  k 
rlie  first  power ; and  the  chain,  which  communicates  the  power 
to— “ 

Fig.  2.  The/w^ee  and  great  wheel.  The  fusee  \%  tapered  at  the 
top  to  correct  the  irregular  recoil  of  the  spring.  The  great  wheel 
turns — 

Fig.  3.  The  cenfre  wheel  and  pinion,  which  makes  one  revolution 
in  an  hour,  carries  the  minute  nand,  and  turns — 

Fig.  4.  The  third  wheel  and  pinion,  which  turns  the  contrite 
wheel. 

Fig.  5.  The  contrite  wheel,  which  makes  one  revolution  in  a 
minute,  and  turns  the  balance  or  escape  wheel. 

Fig.  6.  The  balance  wheel,  which  acts  upon  the  pallats  of  the 
verge,  and  escapes  or  drops  from  one  pallat  to  another  alternately, 
thereby  keeping  the  balance  in  constant  vibration. 

Fig.  7.  The  balance  verge  and  balance  ov  pendxdum  which 

regulates  the  whole  machine. 

Fig.  8.  The  cannon  pinion,  affixed  to  the  centre  whee^  arbour, 
on  which  the  minute  hand  is  placed. 

Fig.  9.  The  minute  wheel. 

Fig.  10.  The  hour  wheel.  The  two  last  mentioned  wheels  are 
turned  by  the  cannon  pinion,  and  having  a greater  number  of  teeth, 
move  much  slower  than  the  cannon  pinion,  and  mark  the  hour  by 
the  hand  on  the  dial. 

The  above  is  a description  of  the  several  wheels  alluded  to  by 
Paley.  Their  relative  situation,  and  combined  movement,  may 
be  seen  by  the  simple  inspection  of  a watch. 


306 


PLATE  r. 


10 


PLATE  II, 


7 


CHAPTER  111. 


Plate  II.  — the  eye. 

F^ig.  1.  The  crystalline  lens  of  a fish;  it  is  proporiionably  larg:er 
than  in  other  animals,  and  perfectly  spherical. 

Fig.  2.  A section  of  the  human  eye.  It  is  formed  of  \arioiii 
coais^f  or  membranes,  containing  pellucid  humours  of  different  de- 
grees of  density,  and  calculated  for  collecting  the  rays  of  light  into 
a focus,  upon  the  nerve  situated  at  the  bottom  of  the  eye-bail. 

The  external  membrane,  called  sclerotic^  is  strong  and  firm,  and 
is  tne  support  of  the  sphericat  figure  of  the  eye : it  is  deficient  in  the 
centre,  but  that  part  is  supplied  by  the  cornea^  which  is  transparent 
and  projects  like  the  segment  of  a small  globe  from  one  of  larger 
size.  The  interior  of  the  sclerotic  is  lined  by  the  choroif  which  is 
covered  by  a dark  mucous  secretion,  termed pigme7itum  in- 

tended to  absorb  the  superfluous  rays  of  light.  The  choroid  is  rep- 
resented in  the  plate  by  the  black  line.  The  third  and  inner  mem- 
brane, which  is  marked  by  the  white  line,  is  the  retina,  the  expanded 
optic  nerve. 

Within  these  coats  of  the  eye,  are  the  humours,  a,  the  aqueous 
humour,  a thin  fluid  like  water ; h,  the  aystalline  lens,  of  a dense 
texture;  c,  the  vitreous  humour,  a very  delicate  gelatinous  substance, 
named  from  its  resemblance  to  melted  glass.  Thus  the  ciystalline 
is  more  dense  than  the  vitreous,  and  the  vitreous  more  dense  than 
the  aqueous  humour:  they  are  all  perfectly  transparent,  and  togeth- 
er make  a compound  lens,  which  refracts  the  rays  of  light  issuing 
from  an  object,  d,  and  delineates  its  figure  e,  in  the  focus  upon  the 
reiina,  inverted. 

Fig.  3.  The  lens  of  the  telescope. 

Fig.  4.  The  crystalline  lens,  or,  as  it  has  been  called,  the  crystal 
line  humour,  of  the  eye. 

Fig.  5,  6.  A plan  of  the  circular  and  radiated  fibres  which  tne 
iris  is  supposed  to  possess ; the  former  contracts,  the  latter  dilates 
the  pupil,  or  aperture  formed  by  the  inner  margin  of  the  iris. 

Fig.  7.  a,  a,  a,  a,  the  four  straight  muscles,  arising  from  the  bol 
tom  of  the  orbit,  where  they  suiTound,  c,  the  optic  nen^e ; and  are 
inso  ted  by  broad,  thin  tendons  at  the  fore  part  of  the  globe  of  the 
eve  into  the  tunica  sclerotica. 


311 


CHAPTER  111. 


Plate  III.  — the  eye  of  birds  and  of  the  eel. 

Fig.  1,2.  T^ie  Jlexihle  lim,  or  hoop,  of  the  eye  of  birds,  consist* 
mg  of  bony  plates,  which  occupy  the  front  of  the  sclerotic;  lying 
close  together  and  overlapping  each  other.  These  bony  plates  in 
general  form  a slightly  convex  ring.  Fig.  1,  but  in  the  accipitres 
they  form  a concave  ring,  as  in  Fig.  2,  the  bony  rim  of  a hawk. 

Fig.  3,  4,  6.  Exhibit  the  marsupium;  it  arises  from  the  back  of 
the  eye,  proceeding  apparently  through  a slit  in  the  retina ; it  pas- 
ses obliquely  into  the  vitreous  humour,  and  terminates  in  that  part, 
as  in  the  eagle.  Fig.  3,  a section  of  the  eye  of  the  falco  chrysaetos. 
In  some  species  it  reaches  the  lens,  and  is  attached  to  it  as  in  Fig. 
4,  6.  In  the  plate  the  marsupium  is  marked  with  a 

Fig.  5.  The  head  of  an  eel ; the  skin  is  represented  turned  back ; 
and  as  the  transparent,  homy  covering  of  the  eye,  a,  a,  is  a cuticular 
covering,  it  is  separated  with  it.  Other  fish  have  a similar,  insensi- 
ble, dense,  and  thick  adnata,  which  is  designed  to  protect  the  eye ; 
and  it  seems  es|  ecially  necessary,  as  fish  have  no  eyelids. 

312 


PLATE  III. 


5 


PLATE  IV. 


4 


5 


CHAPTER  III. 


Plate  IV.  — the  lachrymal  apparatus  and  nictitatino 

MEMBRANE. 

Fig.  1.  a,  is  the  organ  which  supplies  this  fluid,  called  the  lachry- 
'nal  gland,  it  is  situated  at  the  outer  and  upper  part  of  the  orbit  of 
the  eye.  This  is  the  gland  which  secretes  or  separates  the  tears 
from  the  blood.  There  are  five  or  six  ducts  or  tubes,  b,  which  con 
vey  this  fluid  to  the  globe  of  the  eye,  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  it 
moist,  and  for  facilitating  its  movements  ; the  motion  of  the  eyelid 
difliises  the  tears,  and  c,  c,  the puncta  lachrymalia,  take  up  the  su- 
perfluous moisture,  which  passes  tlirougli  d,  the  lachrymal  sac  and 
duct  into  the  nostril  at  e. 

Fig.  2.  The  nictitating  membrane,  or  tliird  eyelid ; it  is  a thin 
semi-transparent  fold  of  the  conjunctive,  which,  in  a state  of  rest, 
lies  in  the  inner  corner  of  the  eye,  with  its  loose  edge  nearly  verti- 
cal, but  can  be  drawn  out  so  as  to  cover  the  whole  front  of  the 
globe.  In  this  figure  it  is  represented  in  the  act  of  being  drawn 
over  the  eye.  By  means  of  this  membrane,  according  to  Cavier,  the 
eagle  is  enabled  to  look  at  the  sun. 

Fig.  3.  The  two  muscles  of  the  nictitating  membrane  are  vei  v 
singular  in  their  form  and  action ; they  are  attached  to  the  back  of 
the  sclerotica;  one  of  them,  a,  which  from  its  shape  is  called  quad- 
ratus,  has  its  origin  from  the  upper  and  back  part  of  the  sclerotica  ; 
its  fibres  descend  towards  the  optic  nerve,  and  terminate  in  a cur- 
ved margin  with  a cylindrical  canal  in  it.  The  other  muscle,  b, 
which  is  called  pyramidalis,  arises  from  the  lower  and  back  part  of 
the  sclerotica.  It  has  a long  tendinous  chord,  c,  which  passes  through 
the  canal  of  the  quadratus,  a,  as  a pulley,  and  having  arrived  at  the 
lower  and  exterior  part  of  the  eye-ball,  is  inserted  into  the  loose 
edge  of  the  nictitating  membrane.  This  description  refei-s  also  to 
Fig.  4,  a profile  of  the  eye,  and  Fig.  5,  the  membrane  and  its  mus- 
rle.s  detached  from  the  eye. 

Cc* 


317 


CHAPTER  III. 


P1.ATE  V. THE  HUMAN  EAR,  AND  TYMPANUM  OF  THE  iXEPHA^T 

Fig.  1.  The  organ  of  hearing;  a,  the  external  ear ; Z>,the  meaiiu 
iiiditoj'ius  extemus,  or  outward  passage  of  the  ear;  leading  to  c,  tlie, 
memhrana  tympanic  or  drum ; c?,  the  ossicula  auditus,  or  httle  hones 
of  tiie  ear;  e,  the  semicircular  canals  ;f,  the  cochlea;  g,  a section  of 
the  eustacldan  tube,  which  extends  from  the  cavity  of  the  tympa- 
num, to  the  back  of  the  mouth  or  fauces. 

Fig.  2.  The  bones  of  the  ear  magnified,  a,  the  malleus,  or  mal- 
let, connected  by  a process  to  the  tympanum ; the  round  head  is 
lodged  in  the  body  of,  h,  the  incus,  or  anvil,  and  the  incus  is  united 
to,  c,  the  os  orbiculare,  or  round  bone,  and  this  to,  d,  the  stapes,  or  the 
stirrup.  These  bones  are  named  from  their  shape,  and  the  names 
assist  in  conveying  an  idea  of  their  form.  They  are  united  by  lig- 
aments, and  form  an  uninterrupted  chain  to  transmit  the  vibrations 
of  the  atmosphere. 

F iG.  3.  The  labyrinth,  so  named  from  the  intricacy  of  its  cavi 
ties ; it  is  situated  in  the  petrous  part  of  the  temporal  bone,  and  con- 
sists of  the  vestibule,  or  central  cavity,  three  semicircular  canals,  and 
cochlea,  so  named  from  its  resemblance  to  the  windings  of  a snail 
shell,  and  is  best  explained  by  the  plate.  Fig.  1,  and  3. 

The  vibrations  of  sounds,  striking  against  the  membrana  tympa- 
ni,  are  propagated  by  the  intervention  of  these  four  little  bones,  to 
the  water  contained  within  the  cavities  of  the  labyrinth ; and  by 
means  of  this  water  the  impression  is  conveyed  to  the  extremities 
of  the  auditory  nerve,  and  finally  to  the  brain. 

Fish  require  no  tympanum,  nor  external  opening  to  the  ear;  the 
fluid  in  which  they  live  is  the  medium  for  conducting  souiuls 
through  the  bones  of  the  head. 

Fig.  4.  The  tympanum  of  the  elephant,  of  its  natural  size,  show- 
ng  ils  radiated  fibres,  supposed  to  be  musculai*. 

318 


PLATE  V 


4 


PLATE  VI, 


CHAPTER  VIL 


Plate  VL  — trochlear  muscle  of  the  eye,  and  kidney. 

Fig.  1.  The  trochlear  or  superior  oblique  muscle,  aiiscs  with  the 
straight  muscles  from  the  bottom  of  the  orbit.  Its  muscular  poriioiij 
a,  is  extended  over  the  upper  part  of  the  eye-ball,  and  gradually  as- 
sumes the  form  of  a smooth,  round  tendon,  6,  which  passes  through 
the  pulley,  c,  and  is  fixed  to  the  inner  edge  of  the  orbit,  d,  then  re- 
turning backwards  and  downwards,  eis  inserted  into,y5the  sclerotic 
membrane.  The  use  of  this  muscle  is  to  bring  the  eye  forwards, 
and  to  turn  the  pupil  downwards  and  upwards. 

Fig.  2.  A section  of  the  human  kidney ; a,  the  emulgent  artery^ 
which  conveys  the  blood  to,  6,  ihepapxlleB^  where  the  peculiar  fluid 
is  secreted ; from  whence  it  passes  by  tubes  into,  c,  the  pelvis;  6,  the 
ureter^  or  tube,  which  conducts  the  secretion  to  its  receptacle ; d^ 
the  emulgent  vein^  for  returning  the  blood,  after  it  has  been  submit- 
ted to  the  acti  )n  of  the  gland. 


323 


CHAPTER  VIIl. 


Plate  VIL  — vertebras  of  the  human  neck. 

Fig.  1.  A representation  of  the  head  and  the  neck  ; the  latter  is 
composed  of  seven  bones  called  verteircE. 

Fig.  2.  Exhibits  the  fii*st  and  second  vertebi*?e,  wth  their  mode 
of  connexion.  The  uppermost  vertebra,  termed  the  atlas,  from  iis 
siip[)oiting  the  globe  of  the  head,  has  an  oval  concave  suidace  on 
either  side,  a,  a,  for  the  reception  of  two  coiTesponding  convex 
surfaces  placed  on  the  lower  part  of  the  head,  in  such  a manner 
as  only  to  admit  of  the  action  of  bending  and  raising  the  head. 

Fig.  3.  The  atlas. 

Fig.  4.  The  second  vertebra,  called  dentata,  has  two  plane  sur- 
faces, a,  a,  adapted  to  the  planes,  a,  a,  Fig.  3,  of  the  atlas:  and  this 
manner  of  articulation  provides  for  the  turning  of  the  head  laterally 
in  almost  every  direction.  Fig.  2.  and  4,  b,  b,  show  the  tooth-like 
process  which  affords  a firtn  pivot  for  the  produc  tion  of  the  lateral 
motion  just  described.  This  process  is  received  into  a coiTespond- 
ing indentation  of  the  adas.  Fig.  3,  6,  and  a strong  ligament  passes 
behind  it,  serving  as  an  effectual  security  against  dislocation,  and 
consequent  compression  of  the  spinal  marrow.  Fig.  4,  d,  marks 
the  situation  for  the  spinal  marrow,  which  passes  through  the  ring 
of  each  vertebra.  The  letter,  c,  indicates  a perforation  in  the  lat- 
eml  process ; and,  as  there  is  a corresponding  perforation  in  each 
lateml,  or  as  k is  termed,  transverse  process  of  the  seven  cervical 
vertebrjB,  a contLuious  passage  is  thus  fonned  for  the  protection 
of  two  important  blood-vessels  destmed  to  supply  the  brain. 

324 


PIRATE  VII 


,/ 


v;-. 


If 


•PLATE  VIII. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Plate  VIII.  — bones  of  the  akm. 

• 

Fig.  1.  a,  the  humerus;  the  head,  6,  is  a portion  of  a sphere,  an  i 
exhibits  an  example  of  the  hall  and  socket^  or  univei*sal  joint ; c,  tlirt 
hinge-jointy  instanced  in  the  elbow  ; d,  the  radius ; e,  the  idncu 
radius  belongs  more  peculiarly  to  the  wrist,  being  the  bone  which 
supports  the  hand,  and  which  turns  with  it  in  all  its  revolving  mo- 
tions. The  ulna  principally  belongs  to  the  elbow-joint,  for  by  it  we 
perform  all  the  actions  of  bending  or  extending  the  arm. 

Fig.  2.  a,  the  humerus : 6,  shows  the  connexion  of  the  radius, 
with  c,  the  ulna,  at  the  elbow.  The  mode  of  articulation  at  the 
wrist  is  seen,  Fig.  1. 

Dd* 


329 


CHAPTER  VIII, 


Plate  IX.  — the  spine. 

Fig.  1.  The  human  spine,  so  named  from  the  series  of  shaip  pro- 
cesses projecting  from  the  posterior  part  of  the  veitebrse.  The 
spine  consists  of  seven  vertebrai  of  the  neck,  distinguished  by  tJie 
perforations  in  their  transverse  processes ; of  twelve  belonging  tc 
the  back,  and  marked  by  depressions  for  the  heads  of  the  ribs  and, 
lastly,  of  ^ve  belonging  to  the  loins,  which  are  larger  than  the  other 
vertebrae. 

Fig.  2.  A separated  dorsal  vertebra:  a,  the  body  of  the  vertebra^ 
6,  the  ring  through  which  the  spinal  marrow  passes:  c,  c,  the  artic- 
ulating surfaces  to  which  the  ribs  are  united. 

Fig.  3.  The  vertebra  of  a veiy  large  seipent,  drawn  from  a spe- 
cimen belonging  to  the  x\natomy  School  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford. 
This  figure  shows  the  socket  of  the  vertebra. 

Fig.  4.  The  ball  or  rounded  joint,  evidently  calculated  for  ex- 
tensive motion. 

Fig.  5.  A part  of  the  spine  of  the  same  reptile ; it  is  exceedingly 
strong,  each  bone  being  united  to  the  other  by  fifteen  surfaces  of 
articulation. 


330 


PLATE  IX, 


V. 


I; 


PLATE  X 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Plate  X.  — the  chest,  patella,  4nd  shoulder-blade. 

Fig.  1.  The  spine,  ribs,  and  sternum,  constitute  the  frame  work 
of  the  chest  or  thorax.  Referring,  however,  to  the  plate,  or  to  nature, 
we  observe  that  the  ribs  are  not  continued  throughout  from  the  spine 
to  the  sternum,  but  intervening  cartilages  complete  the  form  of  the 
chest,  by  connecting  the  end  of  the  first  ten  ribs  to  the  breast  bone. 
This  is  a farther  provision,  relative  to  the  mechanical  function  of 
the  lungs,  deserving  notice.  The  muscles  of  respiration  enlarge 
the  capacity  of  the  v’hest  by  elevating  the  ribs;  and  during  the 
momentary  interval  of  muscular  action,  the  cartilages,  fi'om  their 
great  elasticity,  restore  tlie  ribs  to  their  former  position. 

Fig.  2.  Represents  the  true  shape  of  the  patella,  the  antenor 
surface  convex.  Fig.  3,  the  posterior  surface,  which  has  two  con- 
cave depressions  adapted  to  the  condyles  of  the  thigh  bone.  The 
projection  of  the  patella,  as  a lever,  or  pulley,  removes  the  acting 
force  from  the  centre  of  motion,  by  which  means  the  muscles  have 
a greater  advantage  in  extending  the  leg.  That  this  bone  is  “ un- 
like any  other  in  the  body,”  is  a mistake ; such  bones  are  numerous, 
though  less  obvious,  for  they  do  not  exceed  the  size  of  a pea:  these 
are  called  sesamoid  bones,  and  are  formed  in  the  flexor  tendons  of 
the  thumb,  and  sometimes  in  the  fingers.  They  are  frequently 
found  under  the  tendons  of  some  of  the  muscles.  Two  of  these 
sort  of  bones  are  constantly  found  under  the  articulation  of  the  great 
toe  with  the  foot : some  also  are  discovered,  though  not  so  constant- 
ly, under  the  corresponding  joints  of  the  other  toes.  The  sesamoid 
bones,  like  the  patella,  remove  their  tendons  from  the  centre  of  mo- 
tion, facilitate  their  glidings  over  the  bone,  and  protect  their  artic- 
ulations. 

Fig.  4.  The  shoulder-blade  [scapula]  is  joined  to  the  collar  bone 
oy  ligaments,  and  to  the  thorax  by  powerful  muscles  which  are  ca- 
()able  of  sustaining  immense  weights,  and  wnose  action  gives  the 
various  directions  to  the  arm,  and  enables  it  freely  to  revolve  at  thr 
shoulder-joint. 

Fig.  5.  The  os  hyoides,  a small  bone  situated  at  the  root  of  the 
tongue.  It  serves  as  a lever  or  point  for  attaching  the  muscles  of 
the  tongue,  larynx,  and  those  of  deglutition. 


335 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Plate  XL — the  hip,  knee  and  ankle  joints. 

F G.  1.  The  capsular  ligament  is  here  opened  in  order  to  shov^ 
tlie  ligament  of  the  hip,  named  the  round  ligameiit  It  allows  con- 
siderable latitude  of  motion,  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  the  gi*eai 
safeguard  against  dislocation. 

Fig.  2 and  4.  The  crucial  or  internal  ligaments  of  the  knee-joint 
arise  from  each  side  of  the  depression  between  the  condyles  of  the 
thigh-bone  ; the  anterior  is  fixed  into  the  centre,  tlie  posterior  into 
the  back  of  the  articulation  of  the  tibia.  This  structure  properly 
limits  the  motions  of  the  joint,  and  gives  the  firmness  requisite  for 
violent  exertions.  Viewing  the  form  of  the  bones,  we  should  con- 
sider it  one  oPthe  weakest  and  most  superficial,  but  the  sti*ength  of 
its  ligaments  and  the  tendons  passing  over  it,  render  it  the  most 
secure,  and  the  least  liable  to  dislocation  of  any  joint  in  the  whole 
Dody. 

Fig.  3.  One  of  the  interarticular  cartilages  of  the  knee,  from  their 
shape  called  semilunar ; it  is  also  represented  in  situ,  Fig.  2.  The 
outer  edge  of  each  cartilage  is  thick,  the  inner  concave  edge  thin ; 
the  sockets  for  the  condyles  of  the  thigh-bone  are  thus  rendered 
deeper,  and  the  cartilages  are  so  fixed  as  to  allow  a little  play  on 
the  tibia,  by  which  the  joint  moves  with  great  freedom. 

A moving  cartilage  is  not  common,  but  is  peculiar  to  those  joints 
whose  motions  are  veiy  frequent,  or  which  move  under  a great 
weight.  It  is  a contrivance  found  at  the  jaw-bone,  the  inner  head 
of  the  collar-bone  and  the  articulation  of  the  wrist,  as  well  as  at  the 
knee.  The  obvious  use  is  to  lessen  friction  and  facilitate  motion. 

Fig.  4.  a,  the  Jibula;  b,  the  tibna,  the  lower  extremities  of  which, 
c,  d,  form  the  outer  and  inner  ankle,  and  receive,  c,  the  great  artic- 
ulating bone  of  the  foot,  called  the  astragalus  between  them.  When 
the  foot  sustains  the  weight  of  the  body  the  joint  is  finn,  but  when 
rfiised  it  easily  rolls  on  the  ends  of  these  bones,  so  that  the  toe  is 
ilirected  to  the  place  on  which  we  intend  to  step. 

336 

ft 


PLATE  XI. 


r 


PLATE  XII. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Plate  XIL — the  sartorius  and  oblique  muscles  or  thb 

HEAD. 

Fig.  1.  a,  a,  the  sartorius,  is  the  longest  muscle  of  the  whole 
fabi-ic : it  is  extended  obliquely  across  the  thigh  from  the  fore  part 
of  the  hip,  to  the  inner  side  of  the  tibia.  Its  office  is  to  bend  the 
knee,  and  bring  the  leg  inwards. 

Fig.  2.  There  are  two  pairs  of  oblique  muscles ; a,  a,  the  ohliquus 
capitis  superior,  arising  from  the  transvei*se  process  of  the  atlas,  and 
uiserted  into  the  occipital  bone ; b,  h,  the  ohliquus  capitis  inferior, 
arising  from  the  spinous  process  of  the  dentata,  and  inserted  into 
the  transverse  process  of  the  atlas.  I’hese  muscles  roll  the  head 
on  one  side,  ana  draw  it  backwards. 

Ee^ 


341 


CHAPTER  XI 


Plate  XIII.  — the  muscles  of  the  ^rm. 

Fig.  I.  a,  the  biceps,  (biceps  flexor  cubiti)  arise  oy  two  portions 
from  the  scapula ; tliey  form  a thick  mass  of  flesh  in  the  middle 
of  the  arm,  which  is  finally  inserted  into  the  upper  end  of  the  ra- 
dius ; b,  the  brachiccus  intemus,  arises  from  the  middle  of  the  os 
humeri,  and  is  inserted  into  the  ulna.  Both  these  muscles  bend  the 
fore-arm.  c,  the  longus  et  brevis  brachimis  extemus ; these  are  bet- 
ter named  as  one  muscle,  triceps  extensor  ciibiti.  It  is  attached  to 
the  inferior  edge  of  the  scapula,  and  to  the  os  humeri,  by  three 
distinct  heads,  which  unite  and  invest  the  whole  back  part  of  the 
none,  becoming  a strong  tendon  which  is  implanted  into  the  elbow. 
It  is  a powerful  extensor  of  the  fore-arm.  d,  the  anconceiis,  a small 
triangular  muscle,  situated  at  the  outer  side  of  the  elbow:  it  assists 
the  last  muscle.  ^ 

Fig.  I and  2.  c,  c,  the  annular  ligament  of  the  wrist,  under 
which  pass  the  tendons  of  the  muscles  of  the  fingers. 

Fig.  1.  y;  the  deltoid  muscle;  the  muscle  at  the  shoulder  by 
which  the  arm  is  raised. 


342 


PLATE  XIII. 


PLATE  XIV. 


CHAPTER  IX 


Plate  X1\  — the  muscles  that  raise  the  eye-lids,  and 

SPHINCTER  OR  CIRCULAR  MUSCLES. 

Fig.  1.  A front  view  of  this  muscle,  named  levator  paJpebrcB  sk^ 
verioris:  Fig.  2.  a profile  of  the  same  in  its  natural  position.  This 
muscle  arises  within  the  orbit,  and  is  inserted  by  a broad  tendon 
into  the  upper  eye-lid.  Its  name  is  expressive  of  its  use. 

Fig.  3.  Exhibits  examples  of  sphincter  muscles:  a,  a,  the  orbi- 
cidans  palpebrarum^  encircling  the  eyelid ; it  closes  the  eye,  and 
compresses  it  with  spasmodic  force,  when  injured  by  particles  of 
dust,  &c.  &,  the  orbicularis  oris,  surrounding  the  mouth ; its  chief 
use  is  to  contract  the  lips. 


347 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Plate  XV  — the  digastric  muscle. 

Fig.  1 and  2.  The  digiistric  muscle  has  its  origin,  a,  at  the  lower 
part  of  the  temporal  [)one;  it  runs  downwards  and  forwards,  and 
forms  a strong,  round  tendon,  6,  which  passes  through  a pei-foration 
in  the  stylo-hyoideus  muscle,  f ; it  is  then  fixed  by  a strong  liga- 
ment, c,  to  the  os  hyoides,  d ; it  again  becomes  fleshy,  runs  ilpwards, 
and  is  inserted  into,  e,  the  chin.  This  description  differe  from  Dr. 
Paley’s,  and  it  will  be  found  by  reference  to  dissections  or  the  plate, 
that  the  os  hyoides  furnishes  a stay  or  brace  instead  of  a pulley, 
and  that  the  hop  or  ring  is  in  the  stylo-hyoideus  muscle. 

348 


PLATE  XV, 


PLATE 


XVI, 


CHAITER  IX. 


Plate  XVI.  — the  tendons  of  the  toes. 

Fio.  1.  a,  the  tendon  of  the  long  flexor  of  the  toes,  which  divides 
about  the  middle  of  the  foot  into  four  portions,  passing  through  the 
slits  in,  h,  the  short  flexor  tendons.  Fig.  2.  explains  a similar  con- 
trivance belonging  to  each  finger:  a,  a tendon  of  the  flexor  sublimi^ ; 
b,  a tendon  of  the  flexor  profundus,  passing  through  it. 

Fig.  3.  a,  b,  tendons  of  the  extensor  muscles  of  the  toes;  c.a 
tendon  of  a flexor  of  the  foot.  These  are  bound  down  and  retain- 
ed in  situ  by,  c,  the  anmdar  ligament  of  the  instep,  which  consists 
of  two  distinct  cross  bands,  going  from  the  outer  ankle  to  the  inner 
ankle  and  neighbouring  bones. 

Ff* 


353 


CHAPTER  X. 


Plate  XVIL  — the  heart. 

Fig.  1.  A section  of  the  human  heart;  a,  a, the  superior  and  in 
ferior  vena  cava^  the  a eins  which  convey  the  blood  to  the.  6,  righi 
mncle ; and  thence  into,  c,  the  corresponding  venfncZe ; from  this 
ventricle  the  blood  is  impelled  through,  e,  the  pulmonary  artery^  in- 
to the  lungs ; and  returning  by^^/,  the  pidmonary  veins,  it  is  receiv- 
ed into,  g,  the  left  aur'cle ; it  flows  next  into,  h,  the  left  ventmcle ; 
which  by  its  contraction  distributes  the  blood  through  the  general 
arterial  system: — j,  tlie  aorta,  the  great  artery  which  transmits 
blood  to  the  different  parts  of  the  body,  from  whence  it  is  returned 
by  veins  to  the  cav(B ; k,  the  right  subclavian ; I,  the  right  carotid 
arteries,  originating  from  one  common  trunk ; m,  the  carotid ; 
n,  the  left  subclavian ; d,  the  valves  of  the  right ; i,  the  valves  of 
the  left  ventricle. 

Fig.  2.  The  valves  of  the  right  side  (tricuspid  valves)  separated 
from  tlie  heart ; a,  a,  a,  the  camacB  columnce,  or  muscular  fibres  of 
the  valves ; h,  b,  6,  the  chordce  tendincce,  or  tendinous  filaments  which 
are  attached  to,  c,  the  valves. 

Fig.  3.  Exliibits  the  aiiery  cut  open  with  tlie  form  of  the  semilu- 
nar valves* 

Fig.  4.  A portion  of  the  arteiy  filled,  showing  how  effectually 
the  valves  prevent  the  retrograde  motion  of  the  blood  in  the  aorta 
and  pulmonary  zuteiy. 

Fig.  5,  6.  A section  of  a cutting  and  gidnding  tooth,  showing 
the  apertures  at  the  root  and  the  cavities  for  the  vessels  and  nerves, 
which  supply  the  bony  pait  of  the  teeth,  the  enamel  not  being  an 
organized  substance. 


354 


plate  xvii. 


PLATE  XVIII, 


CHAPTER  X. 


Plate  XVIIL  — the  stomach,  gall-bladder,  &:u. 

Fig.  1.  a,  the  stomach;  6,  the  cardia ; c,  the  'pylorus.  The  gastric 
juice  is  a secretion  derived  from  the  inner  membrane  of  the  stom- 
ach, and  digestion  is  principally  performed  by  it.  In  the  various 
orders  of  animated  beings  it  differs,  being  adapted  to  the  food  on 
which  they  are  accustomed  to  subsist.  The  food,  when  properly 
masticated,  is  dissolved  by  the  gastric  fluid,  and  converted  into 
chyme ; so  that  most  kinds  of  tlie  ingesta  lose  their  specific  quauiies  • 
and  the  chemical  changes  to  which  they  would  otherwise  be  liable, 
as  putridity  and  rancidity,  &c.  are  thus  prevented. 

In  this  plate,  h,  the  liver  is  turned  up,  in  order  to  show  the  gall- 
bladder which  is  attached  to  its  concave  surface  ; d,  the  duodenum ; 
c,  part  of  the  small  intestines ; f,  the  pancreas ; and  g,  the  spleen. 

Fig.  2.  Explains  the  several  ducts  and  their  communicaticn  with 
ihe  duodenum ; a,  XhQ  gcdl-hladder ; 6,  the  ductus  cysticus;  which 
uniting  with,  c,  the  ductus  hepaticus,  forms,  d,  the  ductus  communis ; 
which,  after  passing  between  the  muscular  and  inner  coats  of  the 
intestine,  opens  into  it  at  e,  f,  the  pancreatic  duct.  The  bile  is  said 
to  become  more  viscid,  acrid,  and  bitter,  from  the  thinner  i)arts  being 
absorbed  during  its  retention  in  the  gall-bladder. 

359 


CHAPTER  X. 


Pirate  XIX.  — the  lacteals,  and  thoracic  duct. 

The  figure  in  this  plate  represents  the  course  of  the  food,  from  ite 
CL  ranee  at  the  mouth  to  its  assimilation  with  the  blood ; a,  the  (Esoph 
(tgus,  extending  from  the  pharynx  to,  6,  the  stomach  ; where  the  ali- 
mentaiy  matter,  ha vuig  undergone  the  digestive  process,  is  converted 
into  chyme^  a soft,  homogeneous  substance,  and  escapes  at  c,  the  py- 
lorus, into,  d,  the  intestines.  In  this  plate  a large  portion  of  the  lat- 
ter is  spread  out  to  show  a part  of  the  absorbent  system,  called  lac- 
teals : these  collect  and  imbibe  the  chyle,  or  milky  juice  from  the 
chyme,  and  transmit  it  through  e,e,  the  mesenteric  glands,  into  one 
general  receptacle,  f,  (receptacidum  chyli,)  from  wliich,  g,  the  tho- 
racic duct  ascends  in  a more  or  less  tortuous  direction  to  the  lower 
vertebrsB  of  the  neck,  and  after  forming  an  arch,  it  descends  and 
entere  h,  the  left  subclavian  vein,  at  the  point  where  that  vein  is 
united  with  the  interned  jugular.  The  absorbents  of  the  right  side 
fiecpiently  form  a trunk,  which  enters  the  right  subclavian  vein. 

360 


PLATE  XIX 


PLATE  XX. 


CHAPTER  X. 


Plate  XX. — the  parotid  gland. 

Fig.  1.  A dissection  to  exhibit  tlie  parotid  gland. 

Fig.  2.  Explains  the  former ; a, a, the  integuments  turned  hack; 
parotid  gla;nd ; c,  its  pipe  or  duct  passing  over  the  masseter, 
then  perforating,  d,  the  buccinator  muscle^  and  opening  into  the 
mouth  opposite  the  second  molar  tooth.  The  flow  of  wiliva  into 
the  mouth  is  incessant,  and  it  is  one  oi'  the  most  useful  digestive 
fluids.  It  is  favorable  to  the  maceration  and  division  of  the  (bod, 
it  assists  it  in  degluition  and  transformation  into  chyme;  it  also 
rendera  more  easy  the  motions  of  the  tongue  in  speech  ainJ 
singing. 

Gg* 


365 


CHAPTER  X. 

Plate  XXL  — the  larynx. 

Fig.  1 The  larynx^  pharynx^  &c.  a,  the  os  hyoides^  6,  the  epiglottis 
pressed  down,  thus  covering  the  glottis,  or  opening  of  the  larynx ; 
as  it  does  in  the  act  of  deglutition. 

Fig.  2.  Exhibits  the  larynx,  and  trachea;  which  is  a continua- 
tion of  the  former ; h,  the  epiglottis  ; g,  the  arytenoid  cartilages  ; e 
die  thyroid  cartilage,  exceedingly  strong,  for  the  protection  of  the 
upper  part  of  the  air  tube ; d,  the  cartilaginous  ringlets  of  the  trachea 
or  ivind-pipe,  each  forming  nearly  two-thirds  of  a circle,  and  com 
pleted  by  f,  a soft  membrane,  which,  from  its  apposition  to,  e.  Fig. 
],  the  oesophagus,  accommodates  itself  to  tne  substances  passing 
into  the  stomach. 

Fig.  3.  The  larynx  or  upper  part  of  the  wind-pipe  of  a liird. 
Tliis  is  called  the  infenor  larynx,  where  the  vocal  organ  is  formed 
by  a compression  of  the  trachea,  for  it  is  here  contracted  into  a 
nari'ow  chink,  and  divided  into  two  openings  by  a slender  bone, 
or  tense  membrane,  which,  in  producing  sounds,  resembles  the 
mechanism  of  a musical  instrument.  In  the  plate  this  part  of  the 
larynx  is  a little  turned  up  to  show  the  tendinous  hand  at  this  ex- 
tremity stretched  across  it,  which  is  furnished  from  the  surrounding 
parts  with  muscles  to  modulate  the  tone. 


366 


PLATE  XXI 


PLATE  XXII. 


CHAPTER  XL 


Plate  XXIL— package  of  the  viscera,  and  mesentery. 

Fig.  1.  In  this  plate  the  parietes  of  the  chest  and  abdomen,  with 
die  omentum,  are  removed  to  show  the  viscera  in  situ;  a,  tli<3 
heart;  6,  the  aorta;  c,  the  descending  vena  cava;  d,  the  lungs  divi- 
der! by  the  mediastinum  into  two  [lortions ; three  lobes  belong  to 
the  right,  and  two  to  the  left  portion  of  the  lungs;  e,the  diaphragm^ 
or  that  muscle  which  separates  the  thorax  from  the  abdomen  ; /,  the 
liver ; g*,  the  gall-bladder ; h,  the  stomach ; i,  tlie  spleen ; k,  the  large 
intestines ; I,  the  small  intestines ; m,  the  bladder. 

The  viscera  of  the  thorax  and  abdomen,  i.  e.  the  viscera  of  or- 
ganic life,  are  irregidarhj  disposed.  The  agents  of  volition  are 
double,  but  the  instruments  of  involuntary  motion,  namely,  the  in- 
terior life,  are  single,  and  at  least  are  irregular  in  their  form. 

The  several  viscera  are  correctly  described  in  the  Theology,  and 
sufficient  is  said  for  the  purposes  for  which  they  are  introduced. 
To  the  supposed  use  of  the  spleen  only  an  objection  must  be  taken : 
various  hypotheses  have  been  entertained  as  to  its  office,  but  none 
are  conclusive ; the  most  probable  is,  that  it  is  a source  of  supply 
of  blood  for  fumishing  the  gastric  secretion,  or  that  the  blood  un- 
dergoes some  important  change  in  it. 

Fig.  2.  The  mesentery.  This  membrane  is  fonried  by  a reflec- 
tion of  the  periton(Eum  from  each  side  of  the  vertebrae ; it  connects 
the  intestines  loosely  to  the  spine,  to  allow  them  a certain  degi*ee 
of  motion,  yet  retains  them  in  their  places;  and  furnishes  their  ex- 
terior covering.  Between  the  laminae  of,  a,  the  mesentery,  are  re- 
ceived the  glands,  vessels,  and  nerves ; and  its  extent  admits  of  a 
proj  or  distril  ution  of  each. 


871 


CIlAP'i’KK  X!!. 


Plate  Will.  — ^nerves  uf  the  bill  of  a pick,  .alvil.^ 

tU>MVK.\TKS.  CHAP.  XIII.  AIR-P>  LAPPF  H OF  A PISH,  AM; 

FANG  OF  THE  VIPER 

Fig.  1.  The  iijiper  mandiblt  of  the  duck,  on  wliich  are  distri- 
biiied  the  first  and  second  branches  of  tlie  fifth  pair  of  neiTes;  the 
former  passing  through  the  orbit  to  the  extremity  of  the  bill,  and, 
together  with  the  latter,  supplying  the  whole  palatine  surface. 
This  gustatory  sensibility  is  the  more  necessary  to  those  races  ot 
birds  called  palmipedes,  such  as  penguins,  the  wild  goose,  ducks, 
&:c.  and  the  grallte,  such  as  water-hens,  curlews,  woodcocks,  &c. 
their  sight  being  of  no  assistance  to  them  in  finding  their  prey  in 
the  mire. 

Fig.  2.  A small  portion  of  the  human  intestine  cut  open  in 
order  to  show  the  valvvla  conniventes.  It  may  be  questioned, 
whether  these  extremely  soft  rugae  or  folds  of  the  villous  coat  of 
the  intestine  can  in  the  least  retard  the  passage  of  the  food  througli 
its  canal ; nor  does  the  erect  attitude  of  man  require  them ; for, 
since  there  are  as  many  of  the  convolutions  of  the  intestines  ascend- 
ing as  there  are  descending,  the  weight  of  the  food  can  have  no  in- 
fluence in  the  action  of  the  intestine  : it  is  certain,  however,  that 
this  arrangement  of  the  internal  coat,  affords  a more  extensive  sur- 
face  for  the  lacteals  and  secreting  vessels ; and  this  appeal's  to  be  the 
real  use  of  the  vcdvidce  conniveiites. 

Fig.  3.  The  air-bladder  in  the  roach.  This  vessel  diffei's  in  size 
and  shape,  in  difiercnt  species  of  fish  ; generally  communicating, 
by  one  or  more  ducts,  either  with  the  oesophagas  or  stomach  ; by 
which  means  the  fish  receives  or  expels  the  air,  tlius  sinking  or 
rising  without  effort:  but  as  some  are  destitute  of  this  organ,  it  is 
consiilered  as  an  accessary  instrument  of  motion.  Such  fish  live 
almost  uniformly  at  the  bottom  of  the  wat(‘r. 

Fig.  4.  The  head  of  a viper  of  the  natural  size. 

Fig.  5.  The  fang  magnified,  at  the  root  of  which  is  the  gland 
wMich  secretes  the  venom : a hair  is  represented  in  the  tube  tlirougb 
w iiich  the  poison  is  ejected. 

F'ig.  6,  7.  See  note,  p.  126. 


372 


PILATE  XXIII 


> 


\ 


PLATE  XXIV. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 


Plate  XXIV.  — the  opossum. 

•* 

Fig.  1.  The  American  opossum ; [didelphis  marsupiulis  virginia- 
wa.)  The  body  of  the  animal  is  of  a grayish  yellow  color,  some 
haii*s  entirely  black,  with  others  entirely  white  ; the  tail  furnished 
with  scales ; the  hands,  nose,  and  ears  naked.  The  female  has  the 
whole  lengtli  of  the  belly  clefl  or  slit,  and  appears  like  a person’s 
waistcoat  buttoned  only  at  the  top  and  bottom.  This  cavity  tho 
animal  has  the  power  of  fu'mly  closing.  Within  are  thirteen  teats, 
extremely  small,  one  in  the  centre,  and  the  rest  ranged  round  it. 

Fig.  2.  One  of  the  young  of  the  opossum. 

Fig.  3.  The  pelvis  of  the  opossum ; a,  a,  the  two  bones  {ossa 
marsupialia)  placed  on  the  anterior  part  called  the  ossa  pubis. 

The  kangaroo  and  several  other  animals  of  New  Holland  have 
a sinflar  structure. 

Hh* 


377 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


Plate  XXV. — claw  of  the  heron,  and  bill  of  the  soland 

GOOSE. 

Fig.  I.  The  middle  claw  of  the  heroru 

Fig.  2.  The  head  of  the  Soland  goose,  {pelicantis  hassanusy  drawn 
from  a specimen  in  tlie  Ashmolean  Museum,  Oxford.  This  bird 
inhabits  the  coldest  parts  of  Great  Bntaln,  more  especially  the  nortli- 
em  isles  of  Scotland.  The  inhabitants  of  St.  Kilda  make  it  thek 
principal  article  of  food,  and  are  said  to  consume  annually  near 
30,000  young  birds,  beside  an  amazing  quantity  of  eggs. 

378 


PLATE  XXV. 


1 


. -■ 


PLATE  XXVI. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


Plate  XXVI.  — stomach  of  the  camel. 

The  figure  in  this  plate  exhibits  the  cells  in  the  stomach  of  (hi 
tamely  from  a prepai-ation  in  the  museum  of  tlie  Royal  College  of 
Surgeons,  London.  In  the  camel,  dromedary,  and  lama,  there  are 
four  stomachs,  as  in  horned  ruminants;  but  the  structuje,  in  some 
respects,  differs  from  those  of  the  latter.  The  camel  tribe  have  iu 
the  first  and  second  stomach  numerous  cells,  several  inches  deep 
formed  by  bands  of  muscular  fibres  crossing  each  other  at  right  an- 
gles ; these  are  constructed  so  as  to  retain  the  water,  and  conn»lete- 
ly  exclude  the  food.  In  a camel  dissected  by  Sir  E.  Home,  the  cells 
of  the  stomach  were  found  to  contJiin  two  gallons  of  water ; but  in 
consequence  of  the  muscular  contraction,  which  had  taken  jilace 
immediately  after  death,  he  was  leil  to  conclude  this  was  a quanti- 
ty much  less  than  these  cavities  were  caj)able  of  receiving  in  the 
living  animal.  See  Lectures  on  Comparative  Anatomy,  by  Sir  E. 
Home,  vol.  i.  p.  IG8. 

Mr.  Bruce  states,  in  his  Travels,  that  he  procured  four  gallons  of 
water  from  a camel,  which  fi'om  necessity  he  slaughtered  in  Upper 
Egypt. 


383 


CHAPTER  XIIL 


Plate  XXVII. — tongue  of  the  woodpecker,  and  skull  o 

THE  BABYROUESSA. 

Fio.  1.  The  head  of  the  woodpecker^  {picus  viridis,) 

Fig.  2.  The  tongtie,  the  natural  size. 

Fig.  3.  The  claw  of  the  same  bird,  refeiTed  to  in  Chap.  V. 

Fig.  4.  The  skidl  of  the  babyroiiessa,  from  a specimen  in  the 
Anatomy  School,  Christ  Church,  Oxford. 

This  animal  is  nearly  the  size  of  the  common  hog,  and  instead  of 
bristles,  is  covered  w ilh  fine  short  and  woolly  hair,  of  a deej)  brown 
or  black  color.  It  is  also  distinguished  by  the  extraordinary  position 
and  form  of  the  upper  tusks,  which  are  not  situated  on  the  edge  of 
the  jaw,  as  in  other  animals,  but  are  placed  externally,  jierforating 
the  skin  of  the  snout,  and  tuniing  upwards  towards  the  forehead. 

The  babyrouessa  is  found  in  large  herds  in  many  parts  of  Java, 
Amboina,  and  other  Indian  islands,  and  feeds  on  vegetables. 

884 


PLATE  XXVII, 


2 


PLATE  XXVIII. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Plate  XXVIIL  — temporary  and  permanent  teeth. 

Fig.  1.  The  gums  and  oiuer  plate  of  the  bone  are  removec 
showing  the  teeth  of  the  infant,  as  they  exist  at  the  time  of  its  biilh , 
tiiey  are  without  roots,  and  contained  in  a capsule  witliin  the  jaws. 

Fig.  2,  In  this  figure,  also,  the  outer  alveolar  plate  of  the  jaws 
has  been  removed  to  show  the  succession  of  teeth.  This  is  the 
state  at  six  years  of  age.  The  temporal'll  teeth  are  all  shed  between 
the  ages  of  seven  and  fourteen,  and  are  supplied  by  the  permanent 
teeth  already  nearly  perfectly  formed,  and  situated  at  the  roots  of 
tlie  former. 

li* 


389 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Plate  XXIX.  — foramen  ovale,  and  ductus  arteriosus. 

F 10.  1.  A view  of  the  foetal  heart ; a,  the  ascending,  &,  the  de- 
scending vena  cava ; c,  the  right  auricle ; d,  c,  yj  mark  the  elevated 
ring  of  the  foramen  ovale^  or  the  opening  between  the  two  auricles. 

Fig.  2.  The  foetal  heart;  a,  the  pulmonary  artery;  &,  6,  its 
branches ; c,  the  ductus  arteriosus^  or  canal  for  transmitting  the  l)lood 
into,  d,  the  aorta.  As  the  lungs  are  useless  in  the  foetus,  unless  as 
a “ prospective  contrivance,”  ilie  heart  has  to  carry  on  a single  cir- 
culation only:  the  free  communication  between  the  two  auricles 
identifies  them  as  one  cavity;  and  toe  ventricles  also  force  the 
blood  into  one  vessel,  the  aorta. 


390 


PLATE  XXIX. 


2 


3^* 


f' 


PLATE  XXX, 


CIIAPTHRS  XV.  AWD  XVL 


Plate  XXX.  — fore  extremity  of  the  mole — head  of  the 

El-EPHANT — finger-like  EXTREMITY  OF  THE  PROBtjSCIb SEC- 
TION OF  THE  PROBOSCIS BAT’s  WING BILL  OF  THE  PARROT 

— -EYES  OF  INSECTS EYES  OF  A SPIDER. 

Fig.  1.  Is  the  fore  extremity  of  the  mole  ; a,  the  os  humeri,  is  pe- 
culiar, not  only  for  its  shortness,  but  in  being  articulated  by  b,  one  head 
to  the  scapula,  and  by  c,  another  to  the  clavicle  ; it  is  altogether  of  such  a 
nature  as  tc  turn  the  palm  outwards  for  working. 

The  foot,  or  we  may  name  it  the  hand,  has  eleven  bones  in  the  carpus 
or  wrist,  wh.ch  is  two  more  than  the  carpus  of  man.  One  of  which,  d, 
is  remarkable,  and  from  its  shape  is  called  the  falciform  hone;  it  gives 
the  shovel  form  to  the  hand. 

Fig.  2.  The  head  the  Elephant, 

Fig.  3.  and  4.  The  digitated  extremity  of  the  proboscis. 

Fig.  5.  A transverse  section  of  the  proboscis,  showing,  a,  a,  the  two 
tubes  or  nostrils.  Between  the  external  integuments  and  the  tubes  are 
two  sets  of  small  muscles  ; an  inner  one  running  in  a transverse,  and  an 
outward  one  in  a longitudinal  direction  : 6,  b,  the  transverse  faciculi  of 
n\uscles,  some  of  which  run  across  the  proboscis,  others  in  a radiated,  and 
some  in  an  oblique  direction  : c,  c,  the  radiated,  and  d,  d,  the  f)hh.que  fi- 
bres approximate  the  skin  and  the  tubes,  without  contracting  the  cavity  of 
the  latter.  The  others,  which  pass  across  the  proboscis,  contract  both 
the  surface  of  the  organ,  and  the  canals  it  contains  ; they  can,  at  the  same 
time,  elongate  the  whole  or  a part  of  it  : e,  e,  the  lonoitudinal  faciculi, 
forming  four  large  muscles,  which  occupy  all  the  exterior  of  the  organ. 

Fig.  6.  The  extended  wings  of  the  bat.  Ostrologically  considered, 
they  are  hands,  the  bony  stretches  of  the  membrane  being  tho  finger 
bones  extremely  elongated  : a,  a,  the  thumb,  is  short,  and  armed  with  a 
nooked  nail,  which  these  animals  make  use  of  to  hang  by,  and  to  creep. 
The  hind  feet  are  weak,  and  have  toes  of  equal  length,  armed  also  with 
hooked  nails  ; the  membrane  constituting  the  wing,  is  continued  from  the 
feet  to  the  tail. 

Fig.  7.  The  upper  mandiMe  of  the  parrot,  which  is  articulated  with 
the  cranium  by  an  elastic  ligament,  admitting  of  a considerable  degree 
of  motion. 

Fig.  8.  An  eye  compounded  of  a number  of  lenses.  The  eyes  of  in- 
sects differ  widely  from  vertebrated  animals,  by  being  incapable  of  mo- 
tion ; the  compensation,  therefore,  is  a greater  number  of  eyes,  or  an  eye 
compounded  of  a number  of  lenses.  Hook  computed  the  lenses  in  a 
horse-fly  to  amount  to  7,000,  and  Leuwenhoek  found  the  almost  incredi 
ble  number  of  12,000  in  the  dragon-fly. 

Fig.  9.  The  eyes  of  a spider,  drawn  from  nature.  The  number  ol 
eyes  in  insects  varies  from  two  to  sixteen.  The  spider  here  referrea  to 
answers  the  description  of  the  garden  spider,  {Kpeira  Dindema,)  the 
eyes  of  which  are  planted  on  three  tul  ercles,  four  on  the  central  one,  and 
two  on  each  side  of  the  lateral  ones. 

BO  5 


CHAPTER  XVL 


pLAlE  XXXL THE  CHAMELEON,  AND  INTESTINE  OF  THE 

SEA-FOX. 

Fig.  1.  The  chameleon^  drawn  from  one  of  the  species  prcser\’ed 
in  the  Anatomy  School,  Clirist  Churcli,  Oxford.  The  eyes  of  lliis 
creature  are  very  peculiar:  they  are  remarkably  large,  and  project 
more  than  half  their  diameter.  They  are  covered  with  a single 
eye-lid,  witli  a small  opening  in  it  opposite  the  pupil.  The  eye-lid  is 
granulated  like  every  part  of  the  surface  of  the  body,  with  this  differ- 
ence, over  the  eye  the  gi’anulations  are  disposed  in  concentric  circles 
which  form  folds  in  that  part  to  which  the  eye  is  turned  : and  as 
the  lid  is  .attached  to  the  front  of  the  eye,  so  it  follows  all  its  move- 
ments. The  neck  is  not  “inflexible,”  but  its  shortness,  and  the 
structure  of  the  ceiTical  vertebrae  exceedingly  limit  the  motion; 
this,  however,  is  admirably  compens.ated  by  the  not  less  singular 
local  position  than  motion  of  the  eye,  .as  the  animal  can  see  behind, 
before,  or  on  either  side,  without  turning  the  head. 

Fig.  2.  The  spiral  intestine  of  the  cut  open;  taken  from 

a preparation  in  the  museum  of  the  Royal  College  of  Surgeons, 
London.  The  sea-fox  is  not,  as  Paley  supposes,  a “quadruped 
but  a species  of  sliark,  (squalus  vul[)es.)  The  convoluted  intestinal 
tube  is  also  found  in  some  other  genera  of  fish.  In  this  specimen 
the  internal  membrane  is  converted  into  a spiral  valve,  having 
thirty-six  coils ; so  that  the  alimentary  substances,  instead  of  passing 
speedily  away,  by  proceeding  round  the  turns  of  the  valve,  traverse 
a very  consiilerable  circuit:  an  extensive  surface  for  the  absorbents 
.s  thus  provided. 

Fig.  3.  The  spiral  valve  removed,  showing  the  mode  of  its 
soiling. 


396 


PLATE  XXXT. 


PLATE  XXXII. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Plate  XXXII.  — the  wings  of  the  beetle,  awl,  sting  of 

THE  BEE,  PROBOSCIS,  &C. 

Fig.  1.  Is  an  instance  of  the  homy  and  gauze  wings  in  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  of  the  becile  class  of  tliis  country,  the  cetonia 
auraia,  or  rose  chafer;  showing  the  expanded  elytra^  a,  a:  the  true 
wings,  b,  h. 

Elytra  are  the  wing  covers  of  all  the  coleoptera  order.  They 
are  frequently  grooved,  and  curiously  ornamented,  in  some  spe- 
cies with  scaly  variegations  of  metallic  lustre,  as  in  the  diamond 
beetle,  and  some  species  of  Buprestis.  One  of  the  latter,  of  extra- 
ordinary brilliancy,  forms  an  object  in  the  “Cabinet  of  Beauty’- 
in  the  Ashmolean  Museum.  The  use  of  the  elytra  is  to  protect  the 
wings  and  body;  and  they  are  of  some  assistance  in  flying. 

Fig.  2.  A specimen  of  tlie  elytra  covering  half  the  body  in  the 
tar-ivig^  (forficula  auricularia:)  one  of  the  elytra  is  .extended,  and 
the  membranous  wing  unfolded  ; showing  the  numerous  diverging 
nervures,  or  “ muscular  tendons,”  whicli  run  in  horny  tubes,  to  keep 
the  wing  extended,  a,  a,  anteim/B  usually  consist  of  a number  of  tu- 
bular joints,  with  a free  motion  in  each,  enabling  the  insect  to  giv€' 
them  every  necessary  flexure;  they  vary  in  number  and  in  shape 
in  tiie  various  orders,  and  are  covered  with  hair,  down,  or  bristles, 
frequently  elegant  and  diversifled,  as  every  one  may  observe.  En- 
tomologists conceive,  that  the  anteiinre,  by  a peculiar  structure, 
may  collect  notices  from  the  atmosphere,  receive  vibrations,  and 
communicate  tjiem  to  the  sensorium,  which,  though  not  jirecisely 
to  be  called  hearing,  is  something  analogous  to  it,  or  may  answer 
that  purpose. 

Fig.  3.  The  aivl  of  the  cestruin  bovis,  or  gad-fly,  highly  magni- 
fied. It  is  formed  of  corneous  substance,  consisting  of  four  joints, 
which  slip  into  each  other:  the  last  of  these  terminate  in  five 
points,  three  of  which  are  longer  than  the  others,  and  are  hooked : 
when  united,  they  form  an  instrument  like  an  auger  or  gimlet, 
with  which  the  skin  is  pierced  in  a few  seconds. 

Fig.  4.  One  of  the  hooks. 

Fig.  5.  The  sting  of  a bee,  drawn  from  nature  as  it  appears  b} 
means  of  a magnifier  of  very  high  powers:  a,  a,  a,  a,  the  appara- 
tus for  [irojecting  the  sting  ; b,  the  exterior,  c,  the  interior  sheath  of, 

d,  the  true  sting,  which  is  divided  into  two  parts  barbed  at  the  sides ; 

e,  the  bag  which  contains  the  poison. 

Fig.  C.  The  proboscis  of  a bee  extended,  a,  a,  the  case  oi 
sheath ; b,  the  tube ; c,  the  exterior;  d,  the  interior  fringes;  e,  the 
tongue ; f,  f,  the  exterior,  g,  g,  the  interior  palpi. 

Fig.  7.  The  appearance  of  the  proboscis  when  contracted,  and 
folded  up. 

Fig.  8.  The  head  of  a buttei*fly,  showing  the  coded  proboscis 

Fig.  9.  Ovipositor  of  the  buprestis. 

Kk* 


401 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Plate  X.XXIIL — silk  secretors  of  the  sii^cworm — spin 

NERETS  OF  THE  SPIDER PANORPA  COMMUNIS FEMALE  AND 

MALE  GLOW-WORM LARVA  LIBELLUL^ BREATHING  SPIRACU- 

L.^C PUPA  OF  GNAT — STRATYONIS  CHAMELEON. 

Fig.  1.  The  organs  for  forming  the  silk  consist  of  two  long  vessels. 
They  unite  to  form  the  spinneret  (fusulus)  through  which  the  larva  draws 
the  silken  thread  employed  in  fabricating  its  cocoon.  «,  a,  the  silk  bags, 
6,  the  spinneret. 

F’ig.  2.  The  web  of  spiders  is  also  a kind  of  silk,  remarkable  for  its 
lightness  and  tenuity;  it  is  spun  from  four  or  six  anal  spinnerets,  the  fluid 
j matter  forming  the  web  being  secreted  in  adjacent  vessels,  a,  c,  d. 
the  sjrinnerets. 

Fig.  3.  Panorpa  corjwiunis y (Linn.)  is  an  insect  frequently  seen  in 
meadows  during  the  early  part  of  summer.  It  is  a long-bodicd  fly, 
of  moderate  size,  with  four  transparent  wings,  elegantly  variegated  with 
deep  brown  spots. 

Fig.  4.  The  female  glow-worm. 

Fig.  5.  The  male  of  the  same  insect. 

Fig.  6.  The  larva  of  some  dragon-flies  {csshna  and  lihellula,  F.)  swim 
by  strongly  ejecting  water  from  the  anus.  By  first  taking  in  the  water, 
and  then  expelling  it,  they  are  enabled  to  swim.  This  may  be  seen  by 
putting  one  of  these  larva  into  a plate  with  water.  We  find  that  while 
the  animal  moves  forward,  a currant  of  water  is  produced  by  this  pump- 
ing in  a contrary  direction.  Sometin)es  it  will  raise  its  tail  out  of  the 
water,  when  a stream  of  water  issues  from  it. 

Fig.  7.  The  spiracnla,  or  breathing  pores  of  insects,  are  small  ori- 
fices in  the  trunk  or  abdomen,  opening  into  a canal  called  the  trachece  ; 
by  which  the  air  enters  the  body,  or  is  expelled  from  it.  In  the  larvae  or 
caterpillars,  a trachea  runs  on  each  side  of  the  body,  under  the  skin,  and 
generally  opens  externally  by  nine  or  ten  apertures  or  spiraculae  ; from 
these  the  same  nurnber  of  air-vessels  of  a silver  color  pass  off  to  be  dis- 
persed through  the  body,  a,  a,  spiracula  ; h,  b,  trachea. 

Fig.  8.  The  pupae  of  gnats  suspend  themselves  on  the  surface  of  the 
water,  by  two  auriform  respiratory  organs  on  the  anterior  part  of  the  trunk, 
their  abdomen  being  then  folded  under  the  breast  ; when  disposed  to  de- 
scend, the  animal  unfolds  it,  and  with  sudden  strokes  which  she  gives 
w'ith  it  and  her  anal  swimmers  to  the  water,  she  swims  from  right  to 
left,  as  well  as  upwards  and  dow'nwards,  with  the  greatest  ease. 

F iG.  9.  This  is  a well  known  fly,  {stratyonis  chamceleon,  F.)  cha- 
meleon fly.  In  its  first  state  it  inhabits  the  water,  and  often  remains 
supported  by  its  radiated  tail,  consisting  of  beautiful  feathered  hairs  or 
plumes,  on  the  surface,  with  its  head  downwards.  But  when  it  is  dis- 
posed to  seek  the  bottom  or  to  descend,  the  radii  of  the  tail  is  formed  into 
a concavity  including  in  it  an  air  bubble  ; this  is  its  swim  bladder,  and  by 
the  bending  of  its  body  from  righ  to  left,  contracting  itself  into  the  form 
of  the  letter  S,  and  then  extend  ng  itself  again  into  a straight  line,  it 
moves  itself  in  any  direction. 


402 


PLATE  XXXIII, 


u 


plate  XXXIV. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Plate  XXXIV.  — the  capsule,  pistil,  stamina,  nioell.!, 

PLUMULE,  AND  RADICLE. 

Fig.  1.  The  capsule  or  seed-vessel  of  the  poppy:  (papaver 
somniferum :)  it  is  divided  to  exhibit  its  internal  structure. 

Fig.  2.  Is  an  instance  of  an  erect  flower,  the  agave  Americana; 
in  which  the  pistil  is  shorter  than  the  stamina,  a,  the  pistil ; 6,  the 
stigma ; c,  the  stamina ; d,  the  antherae. 

Fig.  3.  A flower  of  the  crown-imperial.  The  relative  length  of 
the  parts  is  now  inverted,  a,  the  pistil ; 6,  the  stamina. 

Fig.  4.  A blossom  of  the  nigclla. 

Fig.  5.  A grain  of  barley,  showingthe  plumule  and  radicle  grow^ 
ixgfrom  iU 

407 


if 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Plate  XXXV. — vallisneria. 

Fig.  1.  Valisneria  spiralis.  The  female  plants  the  flowers  of 
which  arc  purple.  This  is  drawn  from  a specimen  in  the  posses- 
sion of  Dr,  Ogle. 

Fig.  2.  The  male  plants  producing  white  flowers;  these  when 
mature  rise  like  air  bubbles,  and  suddenly  expandhig  when  they 
reach  the  surface  of  the  water,  float  about  in  such  abundance  as  to 
cover  it  entirely.  “ Thus  their  pollen  is  scattered  over  the  stigmas 
of  the  fii*st  mentioned  blossoms,  whose  stalks  soon  afterwards  re- 
sume their  spiral  figure,  and  the  fruit  comes  to  maturity  at  the  bot- 
om  of  the  water.” 

Fig.  3.  One  of  the  separated  male  flowers  magnified. 

408 


-PLATE  XXXVI. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Plate  XXXVI.  — cuscuta  europjea. 

This  plant  is  a native  of  England,  and  is  found  in  hedges,  on 
clover,  or  on  beans,  where  it  proves  exceedingly  injurious  to  the 
crop.  It  flowers  from  June  to  August.  The  drawing  was  taken 
from  a sy)ecimen  which  grew  in  the  Physic  Gardens,  Oxford.  Ii 
is  represented  twining  about  some  nettles,  on  which  it  annually 
attaches  itself. 

“ Of  all  the  parasitical  plants,  the  dodder  (cuscuta)  tribe  are  the 
most  singular,  trusting  for  their  nourishment  entirely  to  those  veg- 
etables al)out  which  they  twine,  and  into  whose  tender  bark  they 
inseit  small  villous  tubercles  serving  as  roots,  the  original  root  of 
the  dodder  withering  away  entirely,  as  soon  as  the  young  stem  has 
fixed  itself  to  any  other  plant so  that  its  connexion  with  the  etuih 
is  cut  off.  ” English  Botany,  p.  55. 


413 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Plate  XXXV 11.  — the  autumnal  cRdcua 

The  colchicum  autumnale.  This  j)lam  before  us  exliibits  a mode 
of  fructification  scarcely  j)arallele(i  among  Hritish  v^egetables.  Tlie 
flo\v»n-s  appearing  very  late  in  autumn,  the  impregnated  germen* 
remains  latent  under  ground  close  to  tlie  hulh  till  the  foIItAving 
spring,  when  the  capsule  rises  above  the  surface  accompanied  by 
several  long  upright  leaves,  and  the  seeds  are  ripened  about  June, 
after  which  the  leaves  decay.  See  British  Botany,  vol.  i.  p.  IBB. 
The  phint  is  represented  as  it  appears  in  spring  ; the  root  is  divided 
to  show  the  seed  vessel  near  the  bulb.  The  flower  is  remarkable 
for  the  length  of  its  tube. 


414 


PLATE 


v'^ 


mr': 


PLATE  XXXVIII. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

PliATE  XXXVIIL  — THE  DIONJEA  MUSCIPULA. 

The  dionaa  muscipulay  or  Venus’s  fly-trap.  Some  parts  of  this 
plant  are  so  remarkable  as  to  desei*ve  a particular  descnption.  It  is 
a native  of  North  Carolina;  the  root  perennial;  leaves  all  radical, 
supported  on  long  fleshy  and  strongly  veined  footstalks,  leaving  a 
small  portion  of  this  next  the  leaf  naked : the  leaf  itself  consists  of 
two  semi-oval  lobes  jointed  at  the  back,  so  as  to  allow  them  to  fold 
close  together ; they  are  fleshy,  and  when  viewed  through  a lense 
glandular,  sometimes  of  a reddish  color  on  the  upper  surface ; the 
sides  of  both  lobes  are  furnished  with  a row  of  cartilaginous  ciliae 
which  stand  nearly  at  right  angles  with  the  surface  of  the  leaf,  and 
lock  into  each  other  when  they  close.  Near  the  middle  of  each  lobe 
are  three  small  spines,  which  are  supposed  to  assist  in  destroying 
the  entrapped  insect.  In  warm  weather  liie  lobes  are  fully  expanded 
and  highly  irritable,  and  if  a fly  or  other  insect  at  this  time  light 
upon  them  they  suddenly  ^lose,  and  the  poor  animal  is  imprisoned 
till  it  dies.  See  Curtis’s  Botanical  Magazine,  No.  785. 

419 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


Plate  XXXIX.  — astl  onomy. 

Fig.  1,2.  The  remarkable  ring  which  surrouncs  the  planot 
Saturn. 

Fig.  3.  The  eaithan  oblate  spheroid.  See  note,  p.  217, 

Fig.  4.  See  note,  p.  220 
Fig.  5.  See  note,  p.  223. 

Fig,  6.  Centripetal  forces  illustrated.  See  notes,  pp.  219,  226. 

420 


PJLATE  XXXIX. 


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ing been  prepared  by  Dr.  Sears  fox  strictly  educational  purposes,  those  words  and  phrases  properly 
termed  “ vulgar,”  incorporated  in  the  original  work,  were  omitted.  These  expurgated  portions  have, 
in  the  present  edition,  been  restored,  but  by  such  an  arrangement  of  the  matter  as  not  to  inter» 
fere  with  the  educational  purposes  of  the  American  editor.  Besides  this,  it  contains  important 
additions  of  words  and  phrases  not  in  the  English  edition,  making  it  in  all  respects  more  full  and 
perfect  than  the  author's  edition.  The  work  has  already  become  one  of  standard  authority,  both 
In  this  country  and  in  Great  Britain. 


PALEY’S  NATURAL  THEOLOGY.  Hlustrated  by  forty  Plates,  with 
Selections  from  the  Notes  of  Dr.  Paxton,  and  Additional  Notes,  Original  and  Selected, 
with  a Vocabulary  of  Scientific  Terms.  Edited  by  John  Ware,  M.  D.  Improved  edition, 
with  elegant  newly  engraved  plates.  12mo,  cloth,  embossed,  $1.25. 

This  work  is  very  generally  introduced  into  our  best  Schools  and  Colleges  throughout  the  coun- 
try. An  entirely  new  and  beautiful  set  of  Illustrations  has  recently  been  procured,  which,  with 
Other  improvements,  render  it  the  best  and  most  complete  work  of  the  kind  extant. 


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VALUABLE  TEXT-BOOKS. 

PE-HSTCIPLES  OP  ZOOLOGY;  Touching  the  Structure,  Development,  Dis* 
tribution,  and  Natural  Arrangement,  of  the  Races  op  Animals,  living  and  extinct 
with  numerous  Illustrations.  For  the  use  of  Schools  and  Colleges.  Part  I.  Com^ 
pARATivE  Physiology.  By  Louis  Agassiz  and  Augustus  A.  Gould.  Revised  edi% 
tion,  12mo,  cloth,  $1.00. 

“ It  is  not  a mere  book,  but  a work  — yeal  work  in  the  form  of  a book.  Zoology  is  an  interesting 
science,  and  here  is  treated  with  a masterly  hand.  It  is  a work  adapted  to  colleges  and  schools,  and 
no  young  man  should  be  without  it.”  --  Scientific  American. 

“ This  work  places  us  in  possession  of  information  half  a century  in  advance  of  all  our  elementary 
works  on  this  subject.  . . No  work  of  the  same  dimensions  has  ever  appeared  in  the  English  lan- 
guage containing  so  much  new  and  valuable  information.”—  Prof.  James  Hall,  Albanj/. 

“ The  best  book  of  the  kind  in  our  language.”—  Christian  Examimer, 

PBmCIPIiES  OF  ZOOLOGY,  PART  II.  Systematic  Zoology.  In 
preparation, 

THE  ELEJVLEHTS  OP  GEOLOGY ; adapted  to  Schools  and  Colleges.  With 
numerous  Illustrations.  By  J.  R.  Loomis,  President  of  Lewisburg  University,  Pa. 
12mo,  cloth,  75  cts. 

“ It  is  surpassed  by  no  work  before  the  American  public.”  — M.  B.  Anderson^  LL.  D.,  President 
Rochester  University. 

“ This  is  just  such  a work  as  is  needed  for  our  schools.  We  see  no  reason  why  it  should  not 
take  its  place  as  a text-book  in  all  the  schools  in  the  land.”  — N.  U.  Observer. 

“Admirably  adapted  for  use  as  a text-book  in  common  schools  and  academies.” —Congregation^ 
alist,  Boston. 

ELEMENTS  OP  MORAL  SCIENCE.  By  Francis  Wayland,  D.  D.,  late 
President  of  Brown  University.  12mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

MORAL  SCIEHCE  ABRIDGED,  and  adapted  to  the  use  of  Schools  and 
Academies,  by  the  Author.  Half  morocco,  50  cts. 

The  same,  Cheap  School  Edition,  boards,  25  cts. 

This  work  is  used  in  the  Boston  Schools,  and  is  exceedingly  popular  as  a text-book  wherever  it 
has  been  adopted. 

ELEMENTS  OP  POLITICAL  ECONOMY.  By  Francis  Wayland, 
D.  D.  12mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

POLITICAL  ECONOMY  ABRIDGED,  and  adapted  to  the  use  of  Schoolg 
and  Academies,  by  the  Author.  Half  morocco,  50  cts. 

It  deserves  to  be  introduced  into  every  private  family,  and  to  be  studied  by  every  man  who 
has  an  interest  in  the  wealth  and  prosperity  of  his  country.  It  is  a subject  little  understood,  even 
practically,  by  thousands,  and  still  less  understood  theoretically.  It  is  to  be  hoped  this  will  form 
a class  book,  and  be  faithfully  studied  in  our  academies,  and  that  it  will  find  its  way  into  every 
family  library  ; not  there  to  be  shut  up  unread,  but  to  afford  rich  material  for  thought  and  discus-, 
sion  in  the  family  circle.”  — Puritan  Recorder. 

All  the  above  Works  by  Dr.  Wayland  are  used  as  text-books  in  most  of  the  colleges  and  higher 
schools  throughout  the  Union,  and  are  highly  approved. 


(CJ*  G.  ifL.  keep.,  in  addition  to  works  published  by  themselves.^  an  extensive  assort- 
ment  of  works  published  by  others.,  in  all  departments  of  trade.,  v:hich  they  supply 
at  publishers'  prices.  They  invite  the  attention  of  Booksellers,  Travelling  Agents^ 
Teachers,  School  Committees,  Clergymen,  and  Professional  men  generally  (to  whom 
a liberal  discount  is  uniformly  made'),  to  fbeir  extensive  stock.  Copies  of  Text-books 
for  examination  will  be  sent  by  mail  or  otherwise,  to  any  one  transmitting  one 
HALF  the  price  of  the  same.  Orders  from  any  part  of  the  country  promptly 

e^tetkded  to  with  faithfulness  and  despatch.  f33) 


VALUABLE  WORKS. 

THE  PUIIITAE’S;  or  the  Court,  Church,  and  Parliament  of  England,  during  the 
reigns  of  Edward  YI.  and  Elizabeth.  By  Samuel  IIopkixs,  author  of  “ Lessons  at  the 
Cross,”  etc.  In  3 vols.  Yol.  I.  now  ready.  Octavo,  cloth,  per  vol.,  $2.50. 

YOL.  II.  READY  IN  FEBRUARY,  “ “ “ “ $2.50. 

It  will  be  found  the  most  interesting  and  reliable  History  of  the  Puritans  yet  published,  narrating 
in  a dramatic  style  many  facts  hitherto  unknown. 

LIMITS  OP  KELIGIOIJS  THOUGHT  EXAMINED,  in  Eight  Lec- 
tures delivered  in  the  Oxford  University  Pulpit,  in  the  year  1858,  on  the  “ Bampton 
Foundation.”  By  Rev.  II.  Longueville  Mansel,  B.  D.,  Reader  in  Moral  and  Meta- 
physical Philosophy  at  Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  and  Editor  of  Sir  William  Hamilton’s 
Lectures.  With  the  Copious  Notes  translated  for  the  American  Ed.  12mo,  cloth,  $1.00. 

This  volume  is  destined  to  create  a profounder  sensation  in  this  country  than  any  philosophical 
or  religious  work  of  this  century.  It  is  a defence  of  revealed  religion,  equal  in  ability  to  the 
“ Analogy  ” of  Bishop  Butler,  and  meets  the  scepticism  of  our  age  as  effectually  as  that  great  work 
in  an  earlier  day.  The  Pantheism  and  Parkerism  infused  into  our  popular  literature  will  here  find 
an  antidote.  The  Lectures  excited  the  highest  enthusiasm  at  Oxford,  and  the  Volume  has  already 
reached  a edition  in  England.  The  copious  “Notes”  of  the  author  having  been  translated 
for  the  American  edition  by  an  accomplished  scholar,  adds  greatly  to  its  value. 

THE  HISTOKICAL  EVIDE]SrCES  OP  THE  TRUTH  OP  THE 
SemPTURE  RECORDS,  STATED  ANEW,  with  Special  Reference 
to  the  Doubts  and  Discoveries  of  Modern  Times.  In  Eight  Lectures,  delivered  in  the 
Oxford  University  pulpit,  at  the  Bampton  Lecture  for  1859.  By  Geo.  Rawlinson,  M.  A., 
Editor  of  the  Histories  of  Herodotus.  With  the  Copious  Notes  translated  for  the 
American  Edition  by  an  accomplished  scholar.  12mo,  cloth,  $1.00. 

SIR  WILLIAM  HAMILTON’S  LECTURES  ON  LOGIC.  With 
Notes  from  Original  Materials,  and  an  Appendix  containing  the  Latest  Development  of 
his  New  Logical  Theory.  Edited  by  Prof.  H.  Longueville  Mansel,  Oxford,  and 
John  Yeitch,  M.  A.,  Edinburgh.  Royal  octavo,  cloth,  $3.00.  (In  press.) 

MORAL  PHILOSOPHY,  including  Theoretical  and  Practical  Ethics.  By  Jo- 
seph Haven,  D.  D.,  late  Professor  of  Moral  and  Intellectual  Philosophy  in  Amherst 
College  j author  of  “ Mental  Philosophy.”  Royal  12mo,  cloth,  embossed,  $1.25. 

It  is  eminently  scientific  in  method,  and  thorough  in  discussion,  and  its  views  on  unsettled  ques- 
tions in  morals  are  discriminating  and  sound.  It  treats  largely  of  Political  Ethics  — a department 
of  morals  of  great  importance  to  American  youth,  but  generally  overlooked  in  text-books.  In  the 
history  of  ethical  opinions  it  is  unusually  rich  and  elaborate. 

POPULAR  GEOLOGY ; With  Descriptive  Sketches  from  a Geologist’s  PoRfolio. 
By  Hugh  Miller.  With  a Resume  of  the  Progress  of  Geological  Science  during  the 
last  two  years.  By  Mrs.  Miller.  I2mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

This  work  is  likely  to  prove  the  most  popular  of  Hugh  Miller’s  writings,  and  to  attain  the  widest 
circulation.  It  is  written  in  his  best  style,  and  makes  the  mysteries  of  Geology  intelligible  to  the 
common  mind.  As  an  architect  explains  the  structure  of  a house  from  cellar  to  attic,  so  this  ac- 
complished geologist  takes  the  globe  to  pieces,  and  explains  the  manner  in  which  all  its  strata  have 
been  formed,  from  the  granite  foundation  to  the  alluvial  surface.  It  supplies  just  the  information 
which  many  readers  have  been  longing  for,  but  unable  to  find.  Also, 

HUGH  MILLER’S  WORKS.  Seven  volumes,  uniform  style,  in  an  elegant 
box,  embossed  cloth,  $8.25  •,  library  sheep,  $10.00  •,  half  calf,  $14.00  ; antique,  $14.00. 


MANSEL’S  MISCELLANIES;  including  “Prolegomina  Logica,”  “Meta- 
physics,” “ Limits  of  Demonstrative  Evidence,”  “ Philosophy  of  Kant,”  etc.  12mo,  cloth, 
(in  press.)  (3g) 


WOEKS  FOE  BIBLE  STUDENTS 


KITTO’S  POPUIiAK  CYCLOPEDIA  OP  BIBLICAL  LITEBA- 
TCJBE.  Condensed  from  the  larger  work.  By  the  Author,  John  Kitto,  D.  D.  As- 
sisted by  James  Taylor,  D.  D.,  of  Glasgow.  With  over  five  hundred  Illustrations.  One 
volume,  octavo,  812  pp.  Cloth,  $3.00  ; sheep,  $3.50  5 cloth,  gilt,  $4.00  ; half  calf,  $4.00. 

A Dictionary  of  the  Bible.  Serving,  also,  as  a Commentary,  embodying  the  products  of 
the  best  and  most  recent  reseanihes  in  biblical  literature  in  which  the  scholars  of  Europe  and 
America  have  been  engaged.  The  work,  the  result  of  immense  labor  and  research,  and  enriched 
by  the  contributions  of  writers  of  distinguished  eminence  in  the  various  departments  of  sacred  liter- 
ature, has  been,  by  universal  consent,  pronounced  the  best  work  of  its  class  extant,  and  the  one  best 
suited  to  the  advanced  knowledge  of  the  present  day  in  all  the  studies  connected  with  theological 
science.  It  is  not  only  intended  for  ministers  and  theological  students,  but  it  is  also  particularly 
adapted  to  parents.  Sabbath-school  teachers,  and  the  great  body  of  the  religious  public. 

THE  HISTOBY  OP  PALESTINE,  from  the  Patriarchal  Age  to  the  Present 
Time  *,  with  Chapters  on  the  Geography  and  Natural  History  of  the  Country,  the  Cus- 
toms and  Institutions  of  the  Hebrews.  By  John  Kitto,  D.  D.  With  upwards  of  two 
hundred  Illustfations.  12mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

A work  admirably  adapted  to  the  Family,  the  Sabbath,  and  the  week-day  School  Library. 

ANALYTICAL  CONCOBDANCE  TO  THE  HOLY  SCBIP- 
TUBES  ; or,  the  Bible  presented  under  Distinct  and  Classified  Heads  or  Topics.  By 
John  Eadie,  D.  D.,  LL.  D.,  Author  of  “ Biblical  Cyclopaedia,”  “ Ecclesiastical  Cyclopae- 
dia,” “ Dictionary  of  the  Bible,”  etc.  One  volume,  octavo,  840  pp.  Cloth,  $3.00  j sheop, 
$3.50  } cloth,  gilt,  $4.00  *,  half  Turkey  morocco,  $4.00. 

The  ohiect  of  this  Concordance  is  to  present  the  Scriptures  entire,  under  certain  classified 
and  exhaustive  heads.  It  differs  from  an  ordinary  Concordance,  in  that  its  arrangement  depends 
not  on  WORDS,  but  on  subjects,  and  the  verses  are  printed  in  full.  Its  plan  does  not  bring  it  at 
all  into  competition  with  such  limited  works  as  those  of  Gaston  and  Warden  ; for  they  select  doc- 
trinal topics  prncipally,  and  do  not  profess  to  comprehend  as  this  the  entire  Bible.  The  work 
also  contains  a Synoptical  Table  of  Contents  of  the  whole  work,  presenting  in  brief  a system  of 
biblical  antiquities  and  theology,  with  a very  copious  and  accurate  index. 

The  value  of  this  work  to  ministers  and  Sabbath-school  teachers  can  hardly  be  over-estimated  t 
and  it  needs  only  to  be  examined,  to  secure  the  approval  and  patronage  of  every  Bible  student. 

CBUDEN’S  CONDENSED  CONCOBDANCE.  A Complete  Concord- 
ance to  the  Holy  Scriptures.  By  Alexander  Cruden.  Revised  and  Re-edited  by  the 
Rev.  David  King,  LL.  D.  Octavo,  cloth  backs,  $1.25  ; sheep,  $1.50. 

Tl^ondensation  of  the  quotations  of  Scripture,  arranged  under  the  most  obvious  heads,  while 
It  dirmmshes  the  hulk  of  the  work,  greatly  facilitates  the  finding  of  any  required  passage. 

“ We  have  in  this  edition  of  Cruden  the  best  made  better.  That  is,  the  present  is  better  adapted 
to  the  purposes  of  a Concordance,  by  the  erasure  of  superfluous  references,  the  omission  of  unne. 
cessary  explanations,  and  the  contraction  of  quotations,  &c.  It  is  better  as  a manual,  and  is  better 
adapted  by  its  price  to  the  means  of  many  who  need  and  ought  to  possess  such  a work,  than  the 
former  large  and  expensive  edition,”  — Puritan  Recorder. 

A COMMENTABY  ON  THE  0BIG3;NAL  TEXT  OF  THE  ACTS 
OP  THE  APOSTLES.  By  Horatio  B.  Hackett,  D.  D.,  Prof,  of  Biblical  Liter- 
ature and  Interpretation,  in  the  Newton  Theol.  Inst.  HIT  A new,  revised,  and  enlarged 
: edition.  Royal  octavo,  cloth,  $2.25. 

i^*“  This  most  important  and  very  popular  work  has  been  thoroughly  revised  ; large  portions 
entirely  re-written,  with  the  addition  of  more  than  one  hundred  pages  of  new  matter;  the  result  of 
thft  author’s  continued,  laborious  investigations  and  travels,  since  the  publication  of  the  first  edition* 


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